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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28988472">Blank Space</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutloverxo/pseuds/donutloverxo'>donutloverxo</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzyGal/pseuds/LizzyGal'>LizzyGal</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wildest Dreams [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A few x-men as kids, Age Difference, Baby Mutants, Big Mutant Family, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, F/M, First Date, Found Family, Mutants, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Roleplay, Shameless Smut, Smut, Spanking, Steve Rogers didn't stay in the past, Sugar Daddy, Sugardaddy/Sugarbaby, Vaginal Fingering, X-Men References, authority kink, endgame aftermath</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:47:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>41,067</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28988472</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutloverxo/pseuds/donutloverxo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzyGal/pseuds/LizzyGal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been a few years after the Blip for you and Steve Rogers.</p>
<p>You just wanted to live with your delightfully odd found family. You wanted to eat good food, go on adventures with the weird kids you’d taken in and shop with your roommates. </p>
<p>However, you needed some money to live your best life and after discovering a Sugarbaby Website, you found the solution to your problems.</p>
<p>All Steve Rogers ever wanted was to do the right thing. Steve wanted to do the right thing, he’d always wanted companionship but never knew how to get over those pesky desires that modern society deemed not cool.</p>
<p>You wanted to be wanted, you wanted to be cared for and you wanted things that had previously rendered you single. But perhaps the website was the solution to all your problems.</p>
<p>Steve wanted so badly to be wanted and needed. Now more than ever. Could this website give him what he wants?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wildest Dreams [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2142906</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>180</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>329</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Date</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You  were  desperate  need  of  cash.</p><p>Lots  of  cash.</p><p>Like…a  few  thousand  dollars  in  cash  by  the  end  of  the  week  minimum  and  short  of  robbing  a  bank,  as  your  roomie  so  helpfully  suggested,  you  were  not  going  to  be  making  that  kind  of  money  waiting  tables.  Even  if  the  restaurant  you  waited  those  tables  at  earned  you  enough  to  support  yourself  and  the  four  mouths  at  home  you  supported,  ever  since  the  Blip.</p><p>Your  life  could  be  divided  up  between,  before  the  Blip  and  after  the  Blip.</p><p>Before  you’d  been  alone.  A  single  person  in  the  crush  of  New  York  City.  Waiting  tables.  Being  invisible.  Doing  a  whole  lot  of  nothing  special  and  then,  well,  a  few  weeks  after  the  Snap,  a  frightened  tween  looking  girl  came  into  the  restaurant.  Obviously  homeless.  Terrified.  Bundled  up.  Eyes  darting  around  like  a  trapped  animal.  Weird  hair,  a  dark  chestnut  with  white  streaks  around  her  face.  She’d  ordered  a  glass  of  water.  You’d  brought  her  home  with  you  to  your  empty  apartment.</p><p>After  that,  Anna-Marie,  as  it  turned  out  her  name  was,  told  you  about  what  was  wrong  with  her,  her  skin  condition.  </p><p>Three  years  later,  when  the  carnival  was  in  town,  you’d  seen  a  little  boy  in  an  act.  It  was  quite  possible  you  were  the  only  two  people  who  hadn’t  screamed,  or  recoiled  at  the  sight  of  him.  At  the  sight  of  his  yellow  eyes,  his  clawed  hands  and  feet  or  tail.  The  next  thing  you  knew,  you  were  helping  Kurt  break  out  and  sneaking  him  on  the  subway  in  a  rolling  suitcase.</p><p>Over  that  time,  you  helped  a  few  other  people  out  and  then,  after  Tony  Stark  snapped,  some  little  confused  brunet  boy  showed  up  on  your  apartment  doorstep,  demanding  to  be  brought  to  Gotham  City.  Immaculately  dressed  too.  The  kid  had  nicer  clothes  than  you  could  ever  dream  up.  He  informed  you  all  that  his  name  was  Bruce  Wayne  and  that  something  had  gone  terribly  wrong,  however,  there  was  nothing  wrong  with  him.  You  weren’t  entirely  sure  he  wasn’t  severely  concussed  or  suffering  amnesia.  However,  he  seemed  a  little  paranoid  and  refused  to  leave,  or  allow  you  to  call  the  cops.</p><p>And  then,  three  months  ago,  a  box  was  left  on  your  doorstep.</p><p>A  baby  that  started  fires.</p><p>Which  was  a  bit  much.  Even  for  you.</p><p>After  the  baby,  who  Bruce  and  Kurt  had  named  Sparky,  set  the  couch  on  fire  mid  tantrum,  you  made  the  executive  decision  to  move  in  with  a  fellow  waitress  up  in  her  Harlem  Townhouse.  Sure,  it  looked  a  bit  pricey  for  a  waitress,  but  Yelena  was  new  to  America  and  claimed  that  it’d  been  left  to  her  by  an  aunt.  She’d  been  vague  and  you  really  needed  to  move  out.  She  claimed  she  needed  more  fingerprints  in  there  and  you  needed  less  neighbors  asking  questions.</p><p>Ok,  so  sure,  you  were  starting  to  get  a  little  suspicious  of  your  blonde  friend.  She  kept  weird  hours.  She  had  an  inordinate  number  of  knives  in  her  kitchen  drawer.  But  she  never  asked  why  Kurt  was  blue  or  had  fangs  and  a  tail.  She  never  asked  why  the  little  baby  set  things  on  fire  when  mad.  She  didn’t  ask  why  she  couldn’t  touch  Anna-Marie  or  wonder  why  Bruce  kept  asking  weird  questions.  She  seemed  pleased  to  have  company.  She  claimed  it  helped  her  blend  in.  Since  you  were  in  dire  need  to  be  out  of  the  cramped  one-bedroom  apartment,  you  decided  that  Yelena  was  quirky.</p><p>Quirky  was  a  good  word.  It  was  what  you  were  going  with.  Quirky.</p><p>When  you  brought  up  your  money  issue,  she  had  suggestions.  None  were  viable.  But  it  was  nice  to  know  that  she  was  invested  in  helping  out  and  so  willing  to  babysit  and  not  afraid  of  little  things  like  fire,  or  a  blue  tailed  teleporting  pointy  eared  child.</p><p>You’d  learned  to  pick  your  battles.</p><p>Just  that  second,  as  you  smoothed  your  hands  over  your  lap  and  pondered  if  this  was  a  better  option  then  robbing  a  bank,  Yelena  was  babysitting.</p><p>Both  of  you  had  seen  the  Dateline  feature  on  an  Elite  Dating  Website  and  went  quiet.  A  Sugarbaby  website  for  the  wealthy.  As  if  a  life  preserver  had  been  thrown  your  way by  Keith  Morrison  himself.  It’d  taken  a  couple  weeks  to  pass  the  rigorous  background  checks  and  physical  and  interviews.  You  didn’t  even  get  to  pick  out  potential  matches.  You’d  merely  filled  out  a  lengthy  application  that  was  nearly  thirty  pages,  a  cross  between  a  job  application  and  your  tax  returns.</p><p>Questions  as  basic  as  your  background  and  interests,  detailed  questions  as  to  what  you  wanted  your  Sugardaddy  to  look  like  and  suitable  careers.  How  much  money  you  wanted  a  month  had  been  written  down,  marked  out  when  Yelena  and  Anna-Marie  saw  and  then  upped  it.  A  sexual  history  more  detailed  than  anything  you  told  your  gynecologist  had  been  included,  along  with  your  preferences  and  hard  no’s.  A  ton  of  weird  questions  followed.  Making  you  wonder  if  they’d  been  written  by  Doctor  Phil  himself.</p><p>That  morning  a  match  had  been  made.  You’d  gotten  a  phone  call.  The  downright  pleasant-sounding  woman  on  the  other  end  of  the  phone  asked  if  you’d  like  to  go  out  for  dinner?  Merely  to  meet  the  match.  No  more,  no  less.</p><p>Naturally  you  agreed.</p><p>Kurt  had  accidentally  put  a  hole  through  the  bathroom  wall  the  size  of  a  laundry  basket.  Sparky  had  lit  the  couch  on  fire  and  Bruce  needed  new  uniforms  for  school.  Apparently,  he’d  tested  out  of  the  public  school  and  was  immediately  offered  a  scholarship  into  an  elite  private  school,  which  had  so  many  extra  costs  not  included  in  that  free  tuition.</p><p>Anna-Marie  and  Yelena  had  helped  get  you  ready  and  picked  your  outfit.</p><p>Anna-Marie  had  done  your  hair  and  makeup,  muttering  beneath  her  breath  with  that  Cajun  accent,  mumbling  things  you  didn’t  understand  even  though  some  were  in  English  and  others  a  weird  French  maybe?  </p><p>Yelena  had  put  a  knife  and  cash  in  your  purse.  Instructing  you  to  pay  for  dinner  when  you  arrived,  so  there  could  be  no  expectations.  And  if  there  were  any  expectations…that’s  what  the  knife  was  for.  Rambo’s  knife  from  the  looks  of  it  when  you  peeked  in  your  purse.  Yelena  had  given  you  five  hundred-dollar  bills.  A  concern  lingered  that  she  may  have  mugged  someone.</p><p>You’d  picked  the  restaurant  with  their  help.</p><p>Someplace  nice.  In  Manhattan.  Not  crazy  expensive.  Dinner  would  be  in  few  hundred  range  or  so.</p><p>Grant.  The  man  from  the  website  that  you  had  been  matched  with  told  you  to  pick  a  place.</p><p>You  were  convinced  it  was  a  fake  name.  But  you  were  somewhat  amused  that  someone  so  obviously  formal  would  text  you.  All  day  long  you’d  texted.</p><p>
  <em>Good  Morning.  I  received  a  call  from  the  agency  that  we  have  been  matched.  I  would  very  much  like  to  take  you  to  dinner.  You  pick.</em>
</p><p>To  say  you  were  surprised  by  his  use  of  punctuation  and  real  words  was  a  surprise.  You  were  used  to  having  to  decipher  texts  like  a  treasure  map  from  ye  olden  times  when  your  found  family  texted  you.</p><p>It  took  you  a  while  to  text  back  an  actual  response.  Because  you  wanted  to  sound  like  a  real  adult.  Very  adulty.  The  adultiest  of  all  adults.  Because  you  had  to  make  this  dude  want  to  be  your  Sugardaddy.  Because  you  needed  cash.</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Whats  your  name?</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Grant.</em>
</p><p>You  were  half  sure  he  was  lying.  But  Grant  seemed  like  a  name  for  someone  who  sent  texts  like  he  was  dictating  a  legal  brief.  You  had  an  idea  of  what  a  <em>Grant</em>  would  look  like  and  seated  at  the  table  in  the  trendy  restaurant,  you  kept  your  eyes  peeled.</p><p> </p><p>						***</p><p> </p><p>Steve  Grant  Rogers  was  aware  of  the  whispers  that  followed  him  through  the  restaurant.</p><p>He  was  aware  that  he  was  overdressed  for  this  particular  establishment.</p><p>Back  in  his  day,  a  man  dressed  up  when  he  took  a  woman  out.</p><p>Peoples  voices  wisped  around  like  trails  of  smoke.</p><p>Steve  Rogers.  The  former  Avenger.  The  former  Captain  America.  </p><p>Dividing  his  time  between  the  Big  Apple  and  DC  for  his  work,  championing  for  enhanced  individuals  and  rebuilding  after  the  Blip.</p><p>Nothing  was  the  same  though.  Steve  wasn’t  the  same.  He  couldn’t  stay  at  the  Compound,  he  couldn’t  be  around  those  memories.  He’d  lost  his  first  and  closest  friend  since  waking  from  the  ice  when  Nat  died  on  Vormir.  Tony  was  gone  and  he  couldn’t  help  but  blame  himself.  It  should  have  been  him.  He  should  have  snapped.  Tony  had  a  wife  and  a  daughter  and  Steve  had  no  one.</p><p>Steve  had  tried.  He  really  did.  </p><p>When  going  back  to  replace  the  stones,  he’d  tried  so  very  hard  but  he  couldn’t.  He  couldn’t  stay  in  the  past.  He  couldn’t  do  that  when  Tony  couldn’t.  How  could  he  deserve  what  Tony  wanted  so  desperately,  worked  so  hard  for  and  then  lost?</p><p>So  he  came  back.</p><p>He  got  a  place  in  Brooklyn.  He  started  leading  the  grief  counseling  group  again.  He  was  booked  three  years  in  advance  for  talks  and  was  still  taking  on  appearances,  lectures,  service  work  to  not  feel  this  way  anymore.  What  right  did  he  have  to  a  life  when  Tony’s  had  ended?  How  could  he  when  Nat  barely  had  a  chance?</p><p>And  it  wasn’t  like  he  hadn’t  tried.</p><p>Steve  had,  did,  several  times.  He’d  been  out  with  a  few  women  that  he  would  never  name,  because  he  was  not  raised  like  that  and  at  first,  he  thought  it  was  just  a  fluke.  There  was  no  connection.  They  were  too  different.  Things  just  didn’t  work  out.</p><p>But…with  his  tenure  as  Captain  America  over  and  along  with  his  Avenging  days,  he  had  more  time  to  notice  the  little  things  that  he  did,  wanted,  thought  about  that  maybe  weren’t  quite  normal.</p><p>When  Nat  was  alive,  she’d  noticed.</p><p>Of  course  she’d  noticed.</p><p>He  had  all  her  texts  and  emails  and  everything  she’d  given  him.  Still.  So  it  wasn’t  unusual  on  one  of  the  nights  that  he  was  awake  due  to  the  serum,  that  he’d  found  one  of  the  times  that  she’d  sent  him  the  same  link.  In  scrolling  through  messages  that  they’d  exchanged  because  he  needed  to  see  her  words.  He  needed  to  hear  her  voice  in  his  head.</p><p>A  website.  An  agency.</p><p>She  was  convinced  he’d  find  the  one  on  it.  Maybe  because  he’d  been  lost  in  grief  for  his  friend.  Maybe  because  he  didn’t  want  to  let  her  down.  Perhaps  because  he  swore  he  could  smell  her  perfume…he  went  on  it  and  made  a  account,  started  the  process,  encouraged  by  her  memory.</p><p>Steve  never  thought  it’d  go  anywhere.</p><p>He’d  been  completely  honest  in  his  answers,  even  to  those  quite  invasive  questions.  </p><p>The  things  that  he  wanted  from  a  relationship,  expected,  desired…well,  they  were  not  too  mainstream.  Nat  always  teased  him.  She  told  him  frequently  that  he  was  a  Sugardaddy  in  need  of  a  Sugarbaby.  At  the  time,  Steve  had  no  idea  what  that  meant.  </p><p>With  all  the  time  now,  he  could  look  it  up,  research  it.</p><p>And  then  he  got  the  call  that  morning.</p><p>Everything  had  matched  up.  A  perfect  match  according  to  them  and  when  he  got  the  email  with  the  attachment  of  your  application,  Steve  could  barely  believe  his  eyes.</p><p>He’d  half  been  shocked  that  you  even  answered  him.  He  assumed  you  had  checked  your  emails  to  look  over  his  application  and  now,  now  he  could  see  you  over  in  the  corner  table  that  you’d  spoken  about,  wearing  what  you  said  you  would  with  a  book  on  the  table,  like  you  said  in  your  text.</p><p>Everyone  seemed  to  be  staring  at  him  it  felt  like.</p><p>He  heard  his  name  whispered.  Knew  his  picture  would  be  on  the  internet  and  gossip  magazines  come  morning.  </p><p>And  when  you  noticed  him  approach  your  table,  your  first  reaction  was  surprise  at  seeing  him.  Genuine  surprise.  God  were  you  pretty.  There  hadn’t  been  any  pictures  of  you  or  him.  Steve  found  himself  transfixed  by  your  eyes,  the  slope  of  your  nose  and  smooth  column  of  your  neck.</p><p>When  Steve  stepped  up  to  the  table,  to  the  empty  chair  across  from  you  and  said  your  name,  inquiring  if  it  was  you.  </p><p>Your  shocked  face  relieved  him  a  little  bit.  There  was  no  hint  of  worship  on  your  face.  Not  even  a  smidge.  If  anything,  it  was  horror.</p><p>“You  have  got  to  be  shitting  me.”  Were  your  first  words  to  him.</p><p>Before  anything  else  could  possibly  come  from  you,  Steve  quickly  pulled  the  chair  across  from  you  out.  He  smoothed  his  black  tie  in  the  process  of  sitting  down.  He  felt  bad.  He  really  did.  But  this  was  good.  Your  shock  was  a  plus.  It  was  honest.</p><p>You  on  the  other  hand  were  in  no  way,  shape  or  form  amused  or  happy,  in  any  definition  of  the  word.</p><p>Here  you  were,  trying  to  slide  under  the  radar  with  the  increasing  call  for  Registration  for  Enhanced  Peoples,  hiding  out  three  or  four  Enhanced  Peoples  under  your  roof  with  someone  who  may  or  may  not  have  been  a  Russian  spy,  what  with  the  jury  still  being  out  on  little  Bruce.  When  who  approachedeth  your  table?  The  biggest  opponent  of  that  registration  act  himself.</p><p>You  so  did  not  need  the  kind  of  heat  Steve  Rogers  brought  along  with  him.  As  it  was,  you  were  only  barely  flying  under  the  radar.</p><p>But  hot  damn.</p><p>He  was  even  better  looking  in  person.  </p><p>That  jawline.  Those  lips.  His  eyes  really  were  that  blue  and  holy  shit,  the  man  was  built  like  a  goddamn  brick  house.  He  was  huge.  When  he  gave  you  that  pleading  look  as  you  began  to  move,  as  if  to  get  up,  you  hesitated.</p><p>The  man  did  help  save  the  universe.</p><p>The  least  you  could  do  was  treat  him  to  dinner.</p><p>Come  morning,  you’d  call  the  agency  and  say  it  wasn’t  a  good  fit  and  ask  to  be  re-matched  with  someone  else.</p><p>Really  though,  it  was  Steve  freaking  Rogers.</p><p>The  least  you  could  do  was  hear  him  out  and  buy  him  dinner.  The  man  had  fought  Thanos  and  lifted  Thor’s  hammer.  Dinner  was  the  least  you  could  do  if  you  were  going  to  ask  to  be  re-matched  to  someone  else.  Granted,  if  your  first  match  was  to  this  prime  specimen,  who  else  was  on  that  website?</p><p>“I  know,  I  apologize.  I  should  have  said  something.  I  don’t  want  to  upset  you  and  truthfully,  I  thought  about  telling  you  who  I  was.  However,  conversation  flowed  so  well  when  we  exchanged  text  messages  earlier.  I  didn’t  want  you  to  not  come.  Or  come  out  of  obligation.”</p><p>No  words.  You  had  no  words.</p><p>All  day  long  you’d  been  texting  Steve  freaking  Rogers.</p><p>He  really  was  a  sight  to  behold.</p><p>On  he  went,  scooting  his  chair  forward  and  adjusting  the  silverware  just  so,  adjusting  the  water  and  wine  glass  just  so,  smoothing  his  jacket  out  and  sitting  with  posture  that  would  have  made  the  Queen  of  England  jealous.</p><p>Controlled  or  tightly  wound,  you  weren’t  quite  sure  yet.</p><p>“I  cannot  believe  you  need  to  go  on  that  website  to  meet  women.  This  restaurant  is  full  of  women  and  men  who  would  go  out  with  you,  hands  down,  in  a  heartbeat.”  Came  from  you,  as  you  very  much  indeed  noticed  that  people  were  staring,  watching,  a  few  camera  phones  had  even  come  out.</p><p>Awkward  did  not  even  begin  to  cover  it  and  you  felt  bad.  You  really  did.</p><p>You  were  not  some  shrinking  violet.  No.</p><p>You  had  your  share  of  bad  dates  and  close  calls  and  problematic  encounters  that  you  always  bounced  back  from.  Being  unable  to  deal  with  this  unfolding  scene,  that  was  the  start  of  your  taking  the  former  Captain  America  out  to  dinner.  Because  this  was  not  a  date.  No.  You  could  not  date  a  public  figure.  You  would  however  take  him  out  to  dinner.  For  fucks  sake.  He  saved  the  universe.  Oh  sure,  it  was  a  combined  effort.  But  he  was  the  only  former  Avenger  sitting  here  with  you.  Red  faced.  Spine  as  rigid  as  a  broom.</p><p>Movement  caught  your  eye.</p><p>Oh  good,  you  recognized  a  restaurant  manager  when  you  saw  one.  </p><p>Upon  seeing  him,  you  lifted  a  hand  to  get  his  attention,  even  though  he  obviously  was  heading  your  way  to  begin  with.  “Excuse  me…”  You  began,  because  being  a  modern  woman  did  not  mean  you  were  rude  or  unkind.  You  knew  what  it  was  like  dealing  with  the  public.  They  were  just  the  worst.  “Is  there  a  more  private  area  where  we  could  be  seated?”</p><p> </p><p>						***</p><p> </p><p>As  it  turned  out,  there  was  a  more  private  area.  A  private  dining  room  in  the  back  that  you  suspected  could  have  been  reserved.  Had  you  known,  you  would  have  done  such  a  thing  but  you  didn’t  know.  </p><p>You  watched  him  do  it  again.</p><p>You  watched  Steve  adjust  his  cutlery.  Center  his  wine  and  water  glass  over  a  bit.  Leading  you  to  straight  up  ask  him,  because  you  were  already  planning  out  what  you  would  say  to  the  agency  come  morning.  “Tell  me  about  yourself  Steve.”</p><p>It  was  a  small  room.  But  was  private.</p><p>A  table  for  four.  There  was  unusual  art  on  the  wall.  Old  wood  flooring  with  some  trendy  light  fixtures  hanging  from  the  ceiling.  </p><p>“What?”</p><p>Since  you  had  absolutely  no  plans  to  date  Steve,  you  felt  weights  magically  lift  from  your  shoulders.  Tomorrow  you  could  worry  about  getting  cash.  Tonight,  you  were  out  with  this  great  big  hunk  of  male  before  you.  Anna-Marie  was  never  going  to  believe  it.</p><p>What?</p><p>He  was  quiet.  </p><p>“Tell  me  something  that  I  wouldn’t  be  able  to  find  out  about  you  on  the  internet.”</p><p>And  that  quiet  <em>stretched.</em></p><p>Those  eyes  of  his  regarded  you  closely.  He  breathed  in  deeply  through  his  nose  and  you  could  feel  yourself  start  to  heat  up  a  bit  from  the  inside.  No  one  had  ever  looked  at  you  like  that  before,  like  they  wanted  to  just  gobble  you  right  up.</p><p>Beneath  the  table  he  crossed  his  legs  and  you  were  acutely  aware  of  how  long  they  were.  </p><p>You  felt  him  move.  Whether  a  part  of  him  brushed  up  against  you,  or  he was  so  large  he  moved  the  air  around  him.  You  didn’t  know.  Nor  were  you  about  to  peek  under  the  table  to  see.  Not  when  he  wasn’t  looking  away.  Which  meant  you  definitely  could  not  look  away  either,  not  when  he  was  looking  at  you  like  <em>that.</em>  </p><p>God  were  his  eyes  blue. </p><p>“Is  that  what  you  want  to  talk  about?”</p><p>And  your  stomach  knotted  up  and  ended  up  somewhere  on  the  floor  beneath  your  chair.</p><p>Steve,  Mister  Rogers,  he  himself,  tilted  his  head  to  the  side.  Lifted  up  an  eyebrow  in  challenge.  Even  his  neck  was  thick.  Briefly  you  wondered  if  all  that  muscle  was  hard?  What  did  he  feel  like?  He  looked  pretty  smooth  but  you’d  never  seen  him  anything  other  than  fully  dressed.  Even  when  the  paparazzi  got  pictures  of  him  running,  he  was  always  totally  covered  up.</p><p>“Mister  Rogers…”  you  began.</p><p>“Sir.”</p><p>That  shut  you  right  up.  Both  of  your  eyebrows  rose  at  that  firming  of  his  tone.  Not  in  a  bad  way.  No.  In  a  way  that  had  you  wanting  to  drop  down  to  your  knees  like  no  man  had  ever  done  to  you  before.  It  was  hot  and  smooth  and  curled  around  you,  infusing  you.  An  uncontrollable  wild  smile  broke  out  over  your  face.  Unable  to  help  yourself  at  all,  because  he  maintained  that  same  controlled  expression.</p><p>You  burnt  from  the  inside  out.  Your  neck  and  face  and  ears  felt  like  they  were  on  fire.  “What?”</p><p>“If  you  insist  on  being  so  formal.  I  do  believe,  I  would  prefer  that  you  refer  to  me  as  Sir.  Mister  Rogers  is  dated.”</p><p>Mister  Rogers  was  dated?</p><p>Oh  this  sassy  bitch.</p><p>Shifting  around  in  your  chair,  you  looked  away  from  him  to  get  your  shit  together.  Thank  goodness  you  weren’t  planning  on  dating  him.  “Ok…Sir.”  By  that  point,  you  would  have  called  him  anything  he  asked.  Whatever  he  asked.  He  was  making  you  squirm  with  his  eyes  alone.  </p><p>Yeah,  you  needed  to  find  yourself  a  nice  eighty-year-old  billionaire  with  a  heart  condition  that  was  estranged  from  his  family,  or  better  yet,  never  married  and  childless.  You  needed  to  make  a  few  amendments  to  your  paperwork.</p><p>“I  used  to  put  newspapers  in  my  shoes.  Back  when  I  was  growing  up.”</p><p>At  first,  you  had  no  idea  what  in  the  hell  he  was  talking  about.  Who  the  hell  put  newspapers  in  their  shoes?</p><p>But  then  you  remembered.  </p><p>Steve  Rogers.</p><p>Man  out  of  time.  He’d  been  frozen  and  woke  up  decades  later  and  all  that  jazz.  He’d  grown  up  during  the  Great  Depression.  Back  then,  they  probably  did  all  kinds  of  weird  things.</p><p>“What  about  you?  What’s  something  you  didn’t  put  in  your  information  packet?”</p><p>How  was  it  even  possible  for  that  sentence  to  sound  so  filthy?  Like  some  kind  of  obscene  challenge.  Steve  Rogers  did  not  sound  like  this  when  he  was  on  tv.</p><p>You  found  yourself  crossing  your  legs,  worried  he’d  smell  how  aroused  you  were  becoming.  Blurting  out,  “I  cannot  do  this  with  you  Mi…Sir.  Don’t  get  me  wrong.  I’m  honored  to  be  here  having  dinner  with  you.  I’m  not  looking  to  be  famous  or  have  my  business  end  up  on  the  internet.  I’m  sure  you’re  super  great  and  all…I  mean,  you’re  Steve  Rogers.”</p><p>And  Steve  didn’t  blame  you  one  bit. </p><p>Not  that  he  was  going  to  respect  those  words  coming  out  of  your  mouth.  He  was  done.  He’d  found  the  one  he  wanted.  A  few  minutes  with  you  and  he  was  ready  to  drop  to  his  knees  and  do  whatever  it  took.</p><p>Under  the  table,  he  was  more  than  a  little  uncomfortably  aroused.  Which  was  more  than  he’d  felt  on  the  entirety  of  previous  dates.  Without  a  doubt,  you’d  be  seeing  him  again.  Steve  hadn’t  felt  like  this  since  going  back  to  Camp  Lehigh  with  Tony  and  seeing  Peggy.  That  tightness  in  his  chest.  An  uncontrollable  want.  Wanting.</p><p>“That’s  a  bit  premature.  We  haven’t  even  been  served  our  appetizer  yet.  Sweetheart.”</p><p>No.  Not  sweetheart.  That  didn’t  get  much  of  a  reaction  out  of  you.  That  didn’t  make  you  flush  or  squirm  in  your  seat.  You  didn’t  have  a  physiological  reaction  like  you  did  when  he  spoke  to  you  with  soft  authority,  requesting  you  call  him  Sir,  testing  the  waters,  seeing  how  you  would  react  and  you’d  responded  so  beautifully.  In  bed,  you  would  most  definitely  call  him  Daddy  and  he  very  much  looked  forward  to  taking  you  apart,  piece  by  piece,  hearing  that  fall  from  your  lips  in  a  variety  of  tones,  decibels.  </p><p>The  look  you  gave  him  when  he  so  calmly  spoke  those  words.  It  seared  right  through  him.  As  expected  from  how  easily  conversation  had  flowed  over  text  messages  earlier  in  the  day.</p><p>“I’m  not  looking  for  someone  to  be  on  my  arm  for  window-dressing.”  After  a  time,  when  he  got  you  settled  in  his  life,  he’d  ease  you  into  bits  of  his  public  life.  This  hesitancy  was  wildly  appealing  to  him.  When  the  time  came,  Steve  vowed  then  that  he  would  look  after  you  and  protect  you.  First  though,  he  had  to  convince  you  and  he  was  no  quitter.  “I  am  searching  for  a  certain  someone  to  spend  my  time.  I  am  looking  for  a  special  person  that  shares  the  same  desires  as  myself.  You  very  much  do.  What  would  the  harm  be  in  exploring  that  for  a  month?”</p><p>“A  week,”  you  immediately  countered,  a  spontaneous  utterance  based  on  the  horrified  expression  that  flickered  across  your  face,  pleasing  Steve  to  no  end.  Most  of  all  when  you  followed  that  with  a  rousing,  “Sir.”  How  that  one  syllable  rolled  so  beautifully  off  your  tongue.  A  true  and  real  gift.</p><p>“A  month,”  was  Steve’s  counter  offer.  “A  month  and  I’ll  give  you  my  accountants  card  tonight.  You  can  give  him  your  banking  information.  I  want  a  real  four  weeks  with  you  completely  at  my  disposal.”  A  month  would  be  more  than  enough  time  to  convince  you, win  you  over,  incorporate  you  into  his  life.  </p><p>Your  eyes  narrowed  and  darted  around  as  you  thought  about  it.</p><p>“Afterwards,”  he  went  on.  “We  can  have  attorneys  draw  up  something  more  permeant  and  suitable  to  our  specific  needs.”</p><p>That…was  not  at  all  what  you  had  expected.</p><p>Steve  Rogers  was  not  at  all  what  you  had  expected.</p><p>This  wasn’t  supposed  to  be  something  that  could  be  a  thing.  This  was  supposed  to  be  a  cash  grab.  All  you  planned  to  do  was  have  some  kinky  sex,  spend  some  time  with  someone  in  a  position  of  authority  for  a  few  hours,  send  some  dirty  texts  and  steamy  pictures.  And  then,  when  everything  had  settled,  you  could  end  things.  No  feelings  were  to  be  had  and  this  man  before  you,  this  enhanced  man,  well  he  was  speaking  in  terms  that  made  you  suspect  he  was  not  on  the  same  page  as  you.</p><p>It  was  a  no.</p><p>A  hard  no.</p><p>You  could  not  be  having  kinky  sex  and  be  sending  naughty  texts  to  a  man  that  had  soaked  your  panties  from  across  a  table.  It  was  a  complication  that  your  life  could  not  withstand.</p><p>You  needed  to  be  strong.</p><p>You  could  say  no.</p><p>You  said  no  all  the  time.</p><p>You’d  told  Yelena  that  she  could  not  keep  explosives  in  the  house.  You  told  Kurt  that  he  could  not  teleport  outside  where  neighbors  could  possibly  see.  You  told  Anna-Marie  on  countless  times  that  she  was  not  allowed  to  leave,  or  runaway,  because  she  was  now  part  of  a  family  and  wanted.  You  told  Bruce  that  he  could  not  go  to  the  Avengers  Compound  to  tell  them  that  they  messed  everything  up  and  that  this  was  not  the  same  earth.</p><p>Steve  tilted  his  head  the  other  way.  He  then  did  something  with  his  mouth  that  was  transfixing  and  you  were  all,  “Fine.  No  overnights  though.  I  don’t  do  sleepovers.  And  I  work  during  the  day.”</p><p>What  in  the  hell  was  wrong  with  you?</p><p>“You  have  no  idea  how  much  that  pleases  me.”</p><p>He  could  smell  it.  Smell  you.  Those  enhancements  that  General  Ross  so  badly  wanted  to  register.  Though  he  would  never  say  anything.  Merely  the  knowledge  that  your  body  reacted  so  strongly  to  him  was  satisfactory  enough.</p><p>If  he  was  a  betting  man,  Steve  would  have  bet  every  penny  he  had  that  your  lingerie  was  wet.  It  sent  his  shoe  forward  in  curiosity.  What  would  you  do?</p><p>A  noise  caught  his  attention.</p><p>The  manager  returning  with  a  bottle  of  wine.  On  the  house.  Proclaiming  it  the  best  vintage  of  the  year.</p><p>Not  that  either  of  you  were  more  than  polite  in  accepting,  smiling  and  thanking  the  man  for  his  hospitality.  Steve’s  shoe  touched  your  foot.  Your  heeled  ankle  boots  on  the  floor  beneath  you,  leaving  your  feet  clad  in  socks  that  ended  at  your  ankle.  Surprising  you.  Had  he  not  been  looking  you  right  in  the  eye,  you  would  have  assumed  it  wasn’t  intentional.</p><p>Clearly  you  needed  help.</p><p>Professional  help.</p><p>Your  decision-making  skills  of  late  were  seriously  in  need  of  evaluation.</p><p>A  woman  with  no  desire  to  date  a  man,  or  even  see  him  again,  would  have  pulled  her  feet  back,  ignored  that  challenging  gaze.</p><p>What  did  you  do?</p><p>As  a  glass  of  red,  not  your  favorite  by  the  way,  was  poured  for  you…you  slipped  your  sock  covered  foot  over  Steve’s  shoe.  Up  along  the  laces  to  his  pant  cuff.  His  eyes  never  once  leaving  yours  as  the  manager  went  on  about  the  vineyard  and  grapes.  Up  your  toes  traveled,  up  under  his  pant  leg.  Finding  a  sock.  Oh,  then  finding  very  warm  skin.</p><p>When  the  manager  asked  a  question  that  required  an  actual  answer,  Steve  finally  broke  away  to  be  a  good  person  and  engage.  Beneath  the  table  however,  he  pushed  his  leg  forward  to  allow  you  more  access  to  him,  his  sculpted  calf.  Wanting  very  much  to  be  touched  by  you.</p><p> </p><p>						***</p><p> </p><p>“So  tell  me  Steve,”  you  prattled,  scraping  your  fork  over  your  dessert  plate  to  get  every  bit  of  chocolately  goodness.  Considering  the  cake  was  twelve  dollars  a  slice,  you  were  half  tempted  to  lick  the  plate  clean.  “Why’s  a  good  looking,  universe  saving  fellow  such  as  yourself  doing  on  that  website  looking  for  love?  No  judgement.  I  was  there  after  all.  But  inquiring  minds  and  such…”</p><p>You  couldn’t  totally  wrap  your  head  around  it.</p><p>Why  on  earth  would  this  specific  man  require  assistance  in  finding  a  relationship?  </p><p>It  was  unfathomable  to  you.</p><p>And  you  were  sitting  across  from  him  watching  him  eat  with  precision.  Cutting  up  his  steak  with  sure  slices  from  the  knife.  Sipping  his  wine  and  holding  his  fork  and  glass  with  such  care,  with  those  hands.  Long  skilled  fingers  that  were  capable  of  such  violence,  holding  such  power.  Hands  that  had  held  Thor’s  hammer  and  the  infinity  stones  and  fought  Thanos  and  his  army.  You  wondered  what  they  felt  like?  What  could  his  palms  feel  like  on  your  face?  What  would  his  fingers  feel  like  on  your  body?  The  man  was  massive.  You  could  not  even  bring  yourself  to  wonder  what  he  was  packing  in  his  pants.  A  mental  image  of  him  over  top  of  you  had  to  quickly  be  banished  from  your  head,  before  you  ruined  your  dress  in  addition  to  your  panties.</p><p>Even  relaxed,  he  made  your  stomach  curl  up  so  tight  you’d  be  doing  yoga  for  days  it  seemed.</p><p>Steve  did  no  more  than  lean  back  in  his  chair.  Cross  his  arms  over  his  chest,  straining  the  fabric  of  his  button  up.  Suit  jacket  rested  on  the  back  of  his  chair.  Beneath  the  fabric  you  could  see  how  muscular  he  was  and  it  was  quite  the  sight.</p><p>God  help  you,  you  wanted  to  climb  him  like  a  tree.</p><p>For  free  too.</p><p>You  would  have  done  it  without  any  website  involvement.</p><p>No  hint  of  annoyance  could  be  seen  on  his  face.  No.  Instead  Steve  regarded  you  as  he  had  all  of  dinner.  As  if  you  were  someone  he  was  having  a  real  meal  with,  as  if  this  were  a  real  date,  like  he  could  be  interested  in  you  for  real  because  he  sincerely  cared  about  your  thoughts  and  opinions  and  feelings  and  since  he  was  a  former  superhero,  you  didn’t  doubt  it  for  a  second.  </p><p>You  were  on  some  seriously  thin  ice.</p><p>“In  the  past,”  he  began,  selecting  his  words  carefully.  As  if  he  were  afraid  he’d  frighten  you  off.  Which  you  found  very  interesting.  “I  had  several  relationships.  They  were  fine.  Nothing  bad.  No  huge  issues.  They  were…fine.  However,  I  found  myself  withholding  a  part  of  myself  to  fit  in,  to  be  what  was  expected  of  me.  In  the  end,  they  never  worked  out  because  I  could  never  be  myself.  Someone  was  always  unhappy  or  unfulfilled.”</p><p>No  truer  words  in  the  English  language  had  ever  been  spoken  in  describing  a  romantic  relationship  to  you.  So  much  so,  you  found  yourself  nodding  in  agreement.</p><p>“I  suppose  you  could  call  me  old  fashioned.”  He  went  on  at  your  silent  agreement.  Sensing  a  safe  space  to  be  open,  honest.  “When  I  am  in  a  relationship,  I  have  this  drive  to  care  for  the  other  person.  I  suppose  that  the  serum  enhances  what  is  already  there…”</p><p>Which  made  sense  to  you.  You  along  with  most  every  American  were  familiar  with  Erskine’s  Serum  and  what  it  had  done  to  Steve.</p><p>“…there  is  a  deep  seeded  need  to  care  for  another  person  in  every  way.  Financially,  emotionally,  physically  that  sometimes  overwhelms  me.  I  send  too  many  texts.  I  insist  on  paying  for  everything.  I’m  nosey  and  can  be  overbearing,  stubborn.  I  would  never  tell  you  where  to  go  or  what  to  do,  or  how  to  dress,  or  even  what  to  call  me.  But  I  crave  the  right  to  be  the  sole  provider  for  someone  in  every  known  way.”</p><p>And  you  were  hooked,  fascinated.</p><p>When  you  raised  your  eyebrows  for  him  to  proceed,  he  gave  you  a  small  but  a  real  smile  that  was  never  seen  on  any  of  the  promotional  pictures  you’d  seen  around,  or  on  the  news  or  in  interviews.</p><p>“In  the  bedroom  too.  Honestly.  I’ve  never  reached  climax  with  a  partner.”</p><p>Up  your  eyebrows  went.  Down  your  jaw  fell.</p><p>“I  pretended,”  he  shrugged,  as  if  the  mere  notion  of  Steve  Rogers  faking  orgasms  was  totally  acceptable.  “But  before…before,  you  know,  before  to  say  what  I  wanted  and  needed  out  loud,  it  was  too  shameful  for  me.  I  could  barely  admit  it  to  myself  forget  ask  a  partner  to  do  those  things.  Now  though.  Now  I  know  that  it’s  not  obscene  or  vulgar.  It  isn’t  just  my  thoughts  going  to  a  dark  unacceptable  place.”</p><p>Dark  and  unacceptable?  </p><p>Not  in  your  opinion.  </p><p>Because  your  decision-making  abilities  had  already  been  determined  as  completely  out  of  order,  you  inquired of  him.  Because  why  the  hell  not?  You  probably  weren’t  going  to  see  him  again.  What  was  the  harm?</p><p>“What  would  you  do  to  me?  If  I  was  going  home  with  you  tonight?”</p><p>That  smile  kicked  up  again  till  you  saw  a  hint  of  white  teeth.  Steve  shifted  in  his  seat  and  somehow  you  knew  he  had  an  erection  just  like  you  had  ruined  your  finest  panties.</p><p>Contrary  to  popular  belief,  he  was  not  shy  or  bashful.  Quite  the  opposite  you  found.  He  was  methodical  and  very  much  aware  of  every  action,  how  he  carried  himself,  every  expression,  everything.</p><p>“Tonight?  If  you  came  home  with  me?”</p><p>Earning  him  a  nod  in  confirmation.</p><p>“Not  for  a  sleepover,”  he  added,  making  your  nod  deepen.</p><p>All  of  his  plates  were  empty.  </p><p>He’d  eaten  everything.</p><p>Everything.</p><p>The  basket  of  rolls.  His  salad.  His  entrée  and  dessert.  Even  finishing  off  the  appetizer  after  you  insisted  you  were  saving  room  for  your  own  dinner.  There  were  suspicions  in  your  head  that  he  easily  could  have  eaten  more.</p><p>“If  you  were  coming  home  with  me.  I  would  put  on  some  music  to  see  if  you  really  can  dance…”</p><p>Making  you  roll  your  eyes.</p><p>“…talk  for  a  while  to  find  out  more  about  you.  Things  not  in  your  paperwork.”</p><p>All  of  which  seemed  like  a  good  start  in  your  book.</p><p>“After  a  bit,  I  would  have  you  undress  and  stretch  out  on  my  coffee  table.  Because  I  want  to  see  if  you’re  as  good  as  you  smell.  Every  last  inch  of  you.  Your  mouth,  your  throat,  your  breasts  and  ankles.  Finding  out  how  you  taste  between  your  thighs  and  cheeks  would  be  a  must.”</p><p>Merely  the  thought  of  him  licking  you  there  made  your  face  burn.  </p><p>Anal  was  something  new.  Forget  having  anything  in  your  backdoor.  No  one  had  ever  licked  it.  You’d  said  as  much  on  the  copious  amount  of  paperwork  demanding  information  on  your  sexual  history.</p><p>A  quip  about  that  not  being  very  old  fashion  came  to  mind  and  then  died.  Mostly  because  you  were  wondering  something  else.  “What  about  you?”</p><p>Unmoving.</p><p>Remaining  poised  across  the  table  as  you  were  on  fire.  Steve  answered  you.  “Would  you  want  to  see  what  I  taste  like?”</p><p>No  words.</p><p>There  were  no  words.  Only  nodding.  A  nod  was  all  you  could  manage  to  express.</p><p>“Would  you  want  me  to  take  off  all  my  clothes  for  you?  Let  you  taste  whatever  part  of  me  you  want?”</p><p>Another  nod.</p><p>And  then  came  that  tone.</p><p>“Use  your  words.”</p><p>Dear  god  almighty  in  heaven  above.</p><p>Shifting  around  in  your  seat,  you  wondered  if  the  freakin  air  conditioning  was  even  on  in  the  restaurant?  It  had  to  have  been  a  hundred  degrees!</p><p>Croaking  out  a,  “Yes  sir,”  was  all  you  could  manage.</p><p>Knowing  what  you  knew  about  this  man,  you  figured  he’d  read  everything  in  your  information  packet,  along  with  the  bits  about  your  authority  kink.  Dear  god.  Men  in  uniform.  Stern  men  in  uniform.  Even  that  judge  who  you  heard  yelling  when  you  went  to  pay  Yelena’s  parking  tickets  at  the  courthouse  last  month.  </p><p>Foreboding,  powerful,  well  dressed,  impeccably  mannered  authority  types  really  did  something  for  you  in  your  most  special  of  places.  </p><p>Leave  it  to  you  to  find  the  daddy  of  them  all  in  Steve  Rogers.  The  only  possible  thing  that  could  make  him  even  more  attractive  would  be  if  he  rolled  his  sleeves  up.  It’d  be  done  for  you.  Game  over.</p><p>“Tell  me  what  you  want  to  touch  and  feel  and  put  in  your  mouth.”</p><p>It  was  a  first  date.  </p><p>He  wasn’t  telling  you  what  to  do  on  your  first  date.</p><p>But  he  was  <em>telling</em>  you  what  to  do  on  your  first  date.  You  had  to  date  this  man.  You  would  never  forgive  yourself  if  you  didn’t  at  least  try  one  more  date.  Yes!  That  was  it.  One  more  date.  Another  date  would  determine  if  there  was  actual  real  chemistry,  or  if  you  were  just  reacting  to  Steve  Rogers.</p><p>It  was  settled.</p><p>That  was  what  you’d  do.</p><p>A  second  dinner  would  prove  that  this  was  all  merely  you  being  star  struck,  taken  by  surprise,  not  fully  on  your  game.</p><p>“Your  arms  and  neck,  I  have  a  thing  for  arms.  And  I  don’t  know  if  you  know,  but  you  have  nice  arms.”  Though  he  said  nothing,  you  could  see  from  his  expression  he  was  pleased.  “Your  collarbones  of  course.  Definitely  your  chest.  Guys  always  seem  to  overlook  their  nipples.  It’s  always  about  the  D.  Which,  you  know,  is  important.  I’d  want  a  really  good  look  at  that  part  to  see  if  the  rumors  are  true  about  the  serum.”</p><p>He  laughed.</p><p>Steve  laughed  and  you  couldn’t  have  been  more  pleased  with  yourself  for  making  him  laugh  out  loud.  Sure,  it  was  only  a  moment  or  two.  But  you’d  still  done  it.</p><p>Smirking  and  laughing  softly,  Steve  looked  over  at  the  door  to  your  private  room  and  you  were  surprised  when  it  opened.</p><p>His  enhanced  hearing.  Right.</p><p>In  came  the  manager  to  check  in  and  you  peered  down  at  your  phone  to  see  the  time.</p><p>10:23pm</p><p>Yeah,  it  was  about  time  for  your  date  to  wrap  up.  So  you  were  glad,  when  as  the  manager  not  so  discreetly  nor  surprisingly  chatted  up  Steve,  also  handed  you  the  black  leather  holder  where  the  check  would  normally  be  kept  in.</p><p>Naturally  Steve  noticed  this  too.  </p><p>You  could  see  Steve  notice  you  flip  it  open,  count  out  the  change  beneath  the  table  and  then  leave  the  tip  in  it  and  hand  that  back  to  the  manager.  Shoving  the  rest  of  the  cash  into  your  purse  to  put  in  your  wallet  at  a  later  time.</p><p>Steve  also  noticed  that,  even  though  he  chatted  congenially  with  the  manager.</p><p>Although  it  was  clear  he  was  both  surprised  and  unamused.</p><p>You  didn’t  care.  Dinner  was  paid  for  and  you  were  in  the  free  and  clear  to  go  home  without  feeling  obligated  to  be  social,  or  obligated  to  stay  longer.</p><p>Yelena  was  right.  </p><p>You  needed  to  pay  for  dinner  more  often.  No  wonder  guys  did  it  so  much.  That  look  on  his  face  was  priceless  and  you  met  it  with  a  wink.  More  than  happy  because  he  could  send  all  kinds  of  blistering  looks  back  and  it  didn’t  matter,  you  could  pat  him  on  the  head  and  skip  off  home.  </p><p> </p><p>						****</p><p> </p><p>“What  are  you  doing  tomorrow  night?”</p><p>You  pondered  such  a  question  posed  to  you  the  second  your  heels  clicked  on  the  sidewalk,  hands  shoved  into  the  pockets  of  your  coat,  Steve  right  by  your  side,  not  yet  having  asked  where  you  were  going.</p><p>Being  a  crisp  spring  night,  you  were  glad  you’d  worn  your  nice  fancy  knee-length  peacoat.  You  still  had  a  journey  home  on  the  subway.</p><p>“Sleeping,”  you  offered.</p><p>Even  at  the  hour,  the  sidewalks  were  still  busy  with  people  minding  their  own  business.  If  anyone  recognized  Steve,  they  didn’t  react.  Allowing  him  to  walk  with  his  side  pressed  against  your  own.</p><p>“Cute,  that’s  cute.”  Came  from  your  date.  “I  want  to  take  you  to  dinner.  Pick  a  place.  Any  place.  Any  time.  Anywhere.”  Not  at  all  caring  what  you  said.  Only  knowing  he  had  to  see  you  again.  Had  to.</p><p>Without  a  doubt,  you  were  going.</p><p>You  were  going  to  make  him  work  for  it  though.  You  had  a  few  blocks  till  you  could  hop  on  the  subway.  </p><p>A  hesitant  noise  came  from  you.</p><p>Quickly,  he  hopped  in  front  of  you,  facing  you,  making  you  look  up,  <em>up</em>.  Up  at  the  night  sky  and  street  lights,  glowing  buildings  of  Manhattan  and  his  face,  half  illuminated  by  neon.  “Look…I  know  you  were  surprised  about  me  and  have  reservations.  But  give  me  a  chance.  Please  let  <em>me</em>  take  <em>you</em>  to  dinner  tomorrow.  Anywhere  you  want.  Name  it.”  Steve  Rogers  then  stepped  closer  to  you,  till  his  knees  bounced  off  your  thighs  and  you  could  feel  his  clothing  against  your  own.  Though  he  didn’t  touch  you,  you  could  feel  his  fingers  graze  over  your  boiled  wool  coat.  “Let’s  get  to  know  each  other.  A  month.  Give  me  a  month  of  your  undivided  time.”</p><p>Pondering  it,  or  pretending  too  as  you  were  already  sold.  How  could  you  not  be?  Even  if  you  had  some  reservations.  But  then  again,  you  weren’t  planning  on  parading  him  around  your  family.  You  weren’t  looking  to  get  married.  If  you  could  find  a  Sugardaddy  that  you  were  attracted,  what  was  the  harm?</p><p>Up  your  hand  pointed.</p><p>You  already  had  his  attention,  still  he  leaned  down  closer  as  people  walked  around  you,  as  if  that  could  shield  you  both  from  the  outdoor  chill  and  general  public.  “Ok,  fine…but  I  want  to  set  a  few  ground  rules.”</p><p>“No  sleepovers,”  Steve  brought  up.  Which  really  seemed  to  have  made  an  impact  on  him.</p><p>Nodding,  you  inched  even  closer,  finding  him  warm  even  through  your  layers.  “No  home  visits  to  my  place,  if  I  think  I  see  you  creeping…done.  I  don’t  need  your  kinda  heat  right  now.  I’m  a  private  person.”</p><p>If  he  had  issue  with  that,  he  didn’t  seem  bothered.  You  got  a  nod  of  agreement  in  response.</p><p>“Only  you  and  me.  I’m  not  doing  any  fancy  events  or  anything  for  the  trial  period.  Maybe  after.  Not  yet  though.”</p><p>Again,  he  seemed  fine  with  your  demand.</p><p>He  even  reiterated.  “You’re  a  private  person.  I  understand.”</p><p>Finally,  you  tapped  your  finger  against  his  broad  chest.  “It’s  actually  more  of  a  question  than  anything  else…I’m  on  the  pill.  Is  that  safe?  With  your  little  swimmers?  Are  they  juiced  up  too?  I’m  not  trying  to  get  pregnant  from  super-sperm  and  you  put  in  your  information  that  you’d  prefer  to  not  wear  a  condom.”</p><p>That  did  surprise  him.</p><p>In  fact,  he  was  momentarily  rendered  speechless. </p><p>Pursing  his  lips  in  thought,  he  eventually  came  up  with,  “It’s  never  been  an  issue  previously.  I  could  make  some  calls  and  ask.  It’s  never  really  been  anything  I’ve  thought  about.”</p><p>Typical.</p><p>Typical  male.</p><p>Rolling  your  eyes  was  the  only  response  you  could  give  him.</p><p>“I’ll  find  out  for  you.”  Was  the  response  you  got  from  him.  Along  with,  “Alright.  I  have  a  couple  ground  rules  of  my  own.”</p><p>Because  of  course  he  did  and  would.</p><p>Tilting  you  head  to  the  side,  you  gave  him  the  eternal  female  body  language  that  informed  him  you  were  ready  for  whatever  it  was  he  had  to  say.  And  as  a  male,  he  hesitated,  obviously  familiar  with  such  non-verbal  communication.  </p><p>Yet,  on  he  went,  not  too  put  off  it  seemed.  </p><p>“Me  and  you,  that’s  it.  Don’t  be  going  out  with  anyone  else.  I’ll  take  care  of  whatever  you  need.  If  you  need  money  or  a  ride,  if  you  want  a  coffee.  If  you  want  to  take  a  day  off  and  watch  cartoons  in  bed  all  day  eating  takeout,  I’m  the  one  that’ll  take  care  of  it.  I  need  to  be  the  only  man  in  your  life.”</p><p>And  to  be  quite  frank,  you  didn’t  totally  believe  him.  But  good  for  him  if  he  wanted  to  slide  into  that  role.  You  didn’t  see  how  he  could  make  that  possible.  However,  if  anyone  could,  it’d  be  him  and  it  wasn’t  like  any  other  guy  was  begging  to  pay  your  bills.  What  with  the  nephew  type  roles  in  your  life  being  filled  by  Kurt  and  Bruce,  why  not  let  Steve  try  out  for  Sugardaddy?  </p><p>“You  got  it.”</p><p>Between  him  and  everyone  else,  you  didn’t  exactly  have  time  to  hold  auditions  for  other  potential  Sugardaddies.</p><p>“I  want  to  see  you  every  day.  It  doesn’t  matter  what  we  do.  Dinner.  A  movie.  A  walk  through  the  park.  Something.  And  when  I  call  or  text,  I  do  expect  you  to  answer.  Don’t  make  me  wait  all  day  long  wondering  if  something  is  wrong,  or  if  you’re  hurt  or  if  your  phone  is  dead.  Even  if  it’s  a  quick  message  to  tell  me  you’re  at  work.”</p><p>If  he  was  paying  your  bills,  all  of  that  sounded  fair.  “Sounds  fine.  I  can  do  all  of  that.”</p><p>“You’ll  text  me  when  you  get  home  tonight?”</p><p>Your  right  hand  went  up.</p><p>Scouts  honor  and  all  that  jazz.  Yes,  you  would.</p><p>“How  are  you  getting  home?  What  borough  are  you  going  to?”</p><p>Which  sounded  a  bit  like  a  trick  question  in  your  honest  opinion.  Although  he  hadn’t  asked  for  your  address  straight  out  just  yet.  Boundaries  were  still  being  established,  so  you  were  glad  he  wasn’t  pushing  at  them.  Nodding  in  the  direction  you  had  been  heading.  “Harlem.  Planning  on  taking  the  subway.”</p><p>From  the  look  on  his  face,  you  might  as  well  have  told  him  you  were  planning  on  walking  on  hot  coals  with  barefeet  all  the  way  to  Harlem.</p><p>Totally  unimpressed,  Steve  looked  over  at  the  street.  “Hold  on,  I’ll  get  you  a  cab.”  And  then,  before  you  could  even  summon  up  a  protest,  his  wallet  came  out.  A  second  or  two  passed.  Then  a  plastic  card  was  pulled  out  and  pressed  into  your  hand.  “You  don’t  have  to  tell  me  your  address  yet.  Since  I’m  going  to  Brooklyn,  let  me  get  you  a  cab.  Keep  that  on  you.  I  want  to  know  you  have  it  if  you  need  anything.  Plus,  you’ll  be  making  more  trips  to  Brooklyn  and  I  don’t  want  to  worry  about  you  on  the  subway.”</p><p>For  a  second,  your  natural  instinct  was  to  argue.</p><p>But,  wasn’t  this  why  you’d  signed  up  for  that  website?  So  instead  of  arguing  you  pocketed  the  card,  softly  telling  him,  “Thank  you.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Dining In</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <strong>Brooklyn</strong>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Every  morning  at  0430,  Steve  went  for  a  run.</p><p>Not  needing  the  full  eight  hours  due  to  the  serum.  Every  morning  at  the  same  time,  he  got  up  and  changed,  then  went  out  for  a  run.  </p><p>Steve  ran  as  far  as  he  could  every  morning  for  an  hour.  All  over  the  place  he  ran.  Usually  he  ran  down  to  Manhattan  and  back  to  Brooklyn.  He  ran  on  sidewalks.  He  ran  around  the  boroughs.  Occasionally  he’d  run  around  the  parks  averaging  around  five  to  ten  miles.</p><p>Not  usually  running  with  anything  other  than  the  usual  on  his  mind.  Never  training  like  he  used  to.  Running  to  run.  Running  to  clear  his  head  and  burn  off  that  energy  that  the  serum  gave  him  in  spades.  Running  to  keep  himself  ready  for  whatever  may  come.  </p><p>Never  again  would  he  be  taken  unawares.  He’d  learned  his  lesson.</p><p>On  that  morning,  Steve  ran  as  if  the  hounds  of  hell  were  nipping  at  his  heels.</p><p>According  to  his  watch,  by  the  time  he  rounded  his  way  back  to  his  apartment  building  at  0530,  he’d  run  sixteen  miles  and  that  morning,  there  had  been  no  jogging,  no  warming  up  or  cooling  down,  pausing  to  talk  or  greet  the  usual  cast  of  people  he  saw  up  at  that  hour.  Delivery  people.  Commuters.  Police.  News  Stand  Owners.  Cafes  and  restaurants.</p><p>On  that  morning,  it  had  been  a  dead  run  the  entire  time.  His  mind  on  dinner  like  it  had  been  all  night.  You’d  never  left  his  mind  since  you  waved  at  him  from  the  back  of  the  taxi.</p><p>Everything  about  dinner  and  the  texts  you’d  exchanged  before  you  went  to sleep  stuck  with  him.</p><p>Of  course  Steve  was  physically  attracted  to  you.  </p><p>It  had  nothing  to  do  with  your  appearance.  Yeah,  you  were  gorgeous.  But  that  wasn’t  what  stuck  out.  No.</p><p>He  couldn’t  get  the  way  you  looked  at  him  out  of  his  head.</p><p>Right  around  the  time  you  decided  to  not  go  out  with  him  again,  and  yes,  he’d  noticed,  was  when  you  relaxed.  When  you  looked  at  him  as  if  he  were  the  only  other  person  in  the  city.  You’d  listened  to  him,  really  listened.  Never  once  did  you  ask  him  about  his  past.  No  pressure.  No  demands.  Your  voice  still  echoed  in  his  head,  as  he  replayed  every  bit  of  dinner  over  the  night  and  early  morning  hours.</p><p>You’d  folded  your  feet  up  underneath  you  at  the  table  and  relaxed.  Your  laughs  had  been  full  and  throaty,  with  you  looking  upwards  in  genuine  mirth.  Those  laughs  were  only  for  him.  This  was  only  his,  this  was  something  that  Steve  did  not  have  to  share  with  the  world  and  for  now,  he  had  absolutely  no  intention  of  sharing  you.  </p><p>A  month.  He  had  a  month.  That  was  more  than  enough  time,  he’d  decided  the  second  your  yellow  city  chariot  took  you  away.</p><p>Steve  had  no  clue  why  you  were  on  that  website  and  after  you  reacted  so  strongly  to  calling  him  <em>Sir</em>,  he  didn’t  care.  You  were  what  he’d  been  looking  for  and  Natasha  had  been  right.  She  knew  him  so  well.  Even  in  death,  she  could  nudge  him  in  the  right  direction.  In  no  other  way  could  he  have  thought  up  a  way  for  your  paths  to  have  crossed,  for  him  to  know  that  you  were  a  bit  like  him,  that  you  too  had  that  same  string  running  through  you  that  he  did.</p><p>By  the  time  he  returned  to  the  small  one-bedroom  apartment  that  he  had  rented  fully  furnished  and  move  in  ready,  he  was  sweaty  and  in  dire  need  of  a  shower.  Having  pushed  himself  more  than  he  usually  did  on  his  morning  runs.</p><p>On  his  way  through  the  small  space,  he  downed  a  glass  of  water  and  checked  his  phone  for  any  messages.</p><p>None.</p><p>Well,  none  from  you.</p><p>Unsure  of  what  time  you  woke  up,  he  didn’t  want  to  text  you  too  early  and  risk  angering  you.  Besides.  Steve  knew  for  a  fact  you’d  text  him  sometime  that  morning.  When  he  got  home  last  night,  he’d  had  flowers  sent  to  you  from  a  florist  that  was  linked  through  the  website.</p><p>After  gulping  down  his  water,  his  journey  carried  him  into  the  bathroom  outside  of  his  equally  small  bedroom.</p><p>There  had  been  no  need  for  space.  No  need  for  luxury.  No  need  for  anything  special  or  fancy.  And  while  he  told  himself  he  was  being  realistic.  Deep  down,  Steve  knew  he  was  punishing  himself.</p><p>Without  looking  in  the  bathroom  mirror  at  himself.  Steve  shed  his  sweaty  clothes,  turned  on  the  water  and  brushed  his  teeth.  It  was  a  one  bedroom  one-bathroom  glorified  closet.  Sure  there  was  a  kitchen,  with  open  space  that  included  a  living  area  and  even  a  flat  screen  TV  that  he  rarely  ever  turned  on.</p><p>Not  a  single  picture  of  his  own  was  displayed.  Only  his  bathroom  supplies  and  clothing  were  any  indication  that  someone  lived  in  the  apartment.  </p><p><em>I’m  home</em>,  you’d  sent  him  last  night  as  he  climbed  the  stairs  in  his  own  building.</p><p>He’d  actually  stopped  between  stairs  to  send  you  a  message  back.  A  first  for  him.  <em><strong>I  had  a  really  good  time.  When  can  I  see  you  again?  Tomorrow  night?  Pick  a  place  and  I’ll  meet  you  there  for  a  proper  date.</strong></em>  </p><p>If  that  still  didn’t  needle  at  him.  You  paying  for  dinner.  You  paying  for  dinner  and  then  having  the  audacity  to  wink  at  him.  </p><p>Goddamn  it.</p><p>Thinking  about  it  had  him  uncomfortable  again  and  stepping  into  the  cold  shower  spray,  in  the  unnecessarily  small  shower.</p><p>Cold  water  washed  over  him.</p><p>Because  he  could,  he  ran  his  hands  over  himself  and  through  his  hair  at  first,  all  so  he  could  feel  the  cold.  God  he  hated  the  cold.  He  really  really  hated  it.  </p><p>Peeking  down.  </p><p>He  was  still  hard.</p><p>Not  that  he  even  needed  to  look.  Steve  could  feel  the  heavy  weight  of  his  erection  hanging,  notice  it  solidly  bump  his  thighs  each  time  he  moved.</p><p>Three  separate  times  last  night  he’d  taken  himself  in  hand  for  a  temporary  relief. </p><p>It  seemed  he  was  going  to  have  to  do  it  again,  under  the  spray  of  icy  water.</p><p><em>Could  you  get  takeout?  I  work  in  a  restaurant.  U  would  endear  urself  2  me  so  much  if  I  don’t  have  to  spend  my  night  at  one.</em>  Was  your  response  back  and  without  thinking,  before  he  climbed  five  more  steps  up  last  night,  he  was  texting  back.</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>I’ll  make  you  dinner.  How  do  you  feel  about  pasta?</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>Over  the  past  year  Steve  had  been  learning  to  cook.  He’d  been  talked  into  attending  a  cooking  class  given  by  a  nice  elderly  woman  in  his  building  to  be  polite.  As  it  turned  out,  he  enjoyed  the  weekly  classes.  Though  his  ability  to  cook  a  meal  seemed  to  be  hit  or  miss.  </p><p>Last  week  he’d  made  a  pasta  dish  with  chicken  and  spinach  and  mushrooms  in  a  tomato  cream  sauce  that  had  turned  out  shockingly  good.  He’d  made  it  several  times  since  and  felt  confident  in  making  it  for  you.</p><p>He  wanted  to  make  it  for  you.  He  wanted  to  cook  for  you,  look  after  you,  take  care  of  all  your  needs.</p><p><em>Sounds  perfect</em>,  had  been  your  response.</p><p>Thinking  about  your  text  paired  with  how  you  spoke  to  him,  looked  at  him,  reacted  around  him.  Steve  could  almost  see  you  saying  those  words  in  his  mind’s  eye.</p><p>Just  as  he  had  last  night,  minus  the  frigid  water,  he  closed  his  eyes  to  picture  your  face.  Taking  hold  of  himself  at  the  root  firmly,  almost  uncomfortably  so,  he  began  to  pull  down,  twist  his  hand  in  the  way  that  would  bring  him  to  release.  Not  completion.  But  there  would  be  a  reprieve  from  this  suffering  for  now.  Nothing  short  of  everything  would  satisfy.</p><p>Icy  trails  of  water  made  their  way  down  his  body  as  he  pumped  his  length,  squeezed  and  released,  sent  lightning  up  his  spine  and  twisted  pleasure  within.</p><p>Eyes  clenched  shut.  Face  scrunched  up.  A  soft  pant  escaped.</p><p>It  hurt.</p><p>It  really  did  hurt.</p><p>Before  it  hadn’t  hurt.  Before,  pleasuring  himself  had  been  a  means  to  an  end.  A  way  to  burn  off  those  sexual  needs  that  burnt  through  him  even  harder  with  the  serum  in  his  veins.  </p><p>Before…Steve  would  finish  himself  off  quickly,  efficiently.  Before  it  was  part  of  human  nature.  Before  it  was  merely  animal  sexuality.  Humans  had  urges  and  so  did  Steve  and  after  he  finished  himself  off,  he’d  go  on  with  his  day  or  evening  without  a  second  thought.</p><p>In  the  shower  that  morning  the  thoughts  of  you  hurt,  the  longing  for  you  hurt,  wondering  what  you  would  feel  like  hurt.  He  ached  with  need  now  having  a  place  for  it,  a  vision  in  his  head,  something  to  reach  towards  and  want.  It  was  no  longer  a  base  need  that  could  be  satisfied  through  muscle  stimulation  and  an  eventual  convulsing  ejaculation.  </p><p>When  he  came  in  stripes  across  the  shower  floor  with  a  shout,  Steve  imagined  you  beneath  him  in  ecstasy,  screaming,  shuddering  in  an  equally  powerful  climax.</p><p>It  left  him  more  breathless  than  his  run,  sagging  against  the  shower  wall,  eager  to  finish  his  shower  and  check  his  phone.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Harlem</strong>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>You’d  been  dreaming  about  Steve.</p><p>Which  was  a  shock.</p><p>You’d  always  pictured  yourself  more  of  a  Tony  Stark  type  gal.  Tony  Stark  just  screamed  Daddy  to  you.  You’d  had  more  than  one  fantasy  about  a  firm,  smirking,  authoritative  Anthony  Edward  Stark,  telling  you  what  to  do,  how  to  do  it  and  how  you  would  be  rewarded  for  being  such  a  good  girl  if  you  did  it  correctly.</p><p>Needless  to  say,  even  in  your  dream,  you  were  as  equally  as  surprised  as  you’d  been  on  your  date.</p><p>Never  before  had  Steve  Rogers  appeared  in  your  dreams.  Definitely  not  Steve  Rogers  when  he  was  Captain  America  and  most  certainly  not  after  he  had  left  the  Avengers  with  Natasha  and  Sam  and  had  gone  rogue.</p><p>But  oh…Steve  in  that  beard  from  his  wanted  posters  was  in  your  dream  and  it  was…so  good.  Amazingly  good.  Debauchedly  good.</p><p>That  beard  and  his  dirty,  worn  and  weathered  Captain  America  suit  told  you  what  to  do,  how  to  do  it  and  the  looks  he  sent  you  were  nothing  short  of  viciously  disapproving,  making  you  want  to  do  better,  be  better,  make  him  happy  and  proud  and  give  you  a  reward  for  being  so  good,  being  the  best.</p><p>It  was  far  more  of  a  turn  on  than  you  could  have  ever  imagined  and  when  a  soft  tapping,  touching,  prodding  pulled  you  from  that  sublime  syrupy  dream,  you  were  not  at  all  prepared  for  the  two  faces  so  very  close  to  your  own.</p><p>Two  faces  that  were  very  much  not  bearded.</p><p>Two  sets  of  eyes  were  close  enough  for  you  to  see  dark  brown  and  a  bright  yellow  irises,  creamy  pale  and  velvety  midnight  blue  flesh,  pink  lips  and  pointed  teeth.  Silky  tousled  wheat  hued  hair  side  by  side  with  tight  black  curls.  A  single  tail  flickered  behind  both  nine-year-old  boys.</p><p>A  gasp  came  from  you  at  the  sudden  change  in  scenery.</p><p>Gone  was  your  glorious  dream.</p><p>Poof.</p><p>Gone  was  a  bearded  foreboding  Steve  Rogers.</p><p>Replaced  with  two  little  boys  suddenly  appearing,  sending  you  lurching  back  into  your  makeshift  bed,  in  the  large  spacious  closet  beneath  the  stairs.  A  hand  at  your  throat  as  you  gasped,  closed  your  eyes  and  did  your  best  to  collect  yourself.</p><p>Gone  were  your  days  of  waking  up  to  the  soothing  sounds  of  your  phone  alarm,  or  the  sun,  or  even  the  sounds  of  the  city.  Now  Kurt  and  Bruce  usually  were  the  ones  doing  the  honors.</p><p>“Someone  named  Steve  sent  flowers,”  Bruce  informed  you,  clambering  over  your  legs  into  your  bed.</p><p>Upstairs  was  where  everyone  else  had  their  rooms.  Kurt  and  Bruce  sharing  one.  Anna-Marie  and  the  Baby  in  the  other  with  Yelena  keeping  her  own.  You’d  taken  the  spacious  closet  as  your  quarters.  After  a  few  yoga  mats  were  tossed  on  the  floor,  a  few  pads  from  oversized  lawn-chairs,  many  pillows  and  numerous  blankets.  A  few  strings  of  twinkle  lights  and  a  salt  lamp,  and  you  had  the  most  envied  bed  in  the  townhouse.</p><p>Kurt  clambered  after  Bruce,  his  clawed  three  fingered  hands  grapping  over  your  legs,  his  tail  swishing  in  the  air,  wearing  the  same  NASA  jammies  that  Bruce  wore.  Obviously  with  a  small  cut  in  the  pants  to  accommodate  that  tail.</p><p>“Why  didn’t  he  send  bacon?  Bacon  is  way  better  than  flowers.”  Bruce  went  on,  finding  his  way  to  the  pillows,  where  he  plugged  in  the  lights  that  hung  from  the  slanted  ceiling.</p><p>Kurt’s  heavily  accented  voice  followed  in  agreement,  his  words  having  a  hissy  quality  as  his  tongue  worked  around  his  pointed  teeth.  “Much  bettar.  Tell  SteVan  ve  prefer  bacon.”</p><p>Plopping  down  beside  Bruce,  the  two  boys  crowded  you  into  an  upright  position  so  they  could  look  up  at  the  lights.  Pinkish  five  toed  feet  and  blue  three  toed  feet  kicked  your  blankets  aside.</p><p>Since  no  hopes  for  an  additional  few  minutes  of  snoozing  was  on  the  horizon,  you  grabbed  your  phone  from  its  charger  and  stumbled  out  of  the  space  you’d  taken  for  your  own.  A  selfless  gesture  that  had  turned  into  the  cruelest  of  all  gestures  according  to  Yelena  and  the  boys,  mostly  after  all  your  and  Anna-Marie’s  decorating  of  the  small  space  was  done.</p><p>Bruce’s  voice  followed  you  out.  “You’ll  tell  him,  right?”</p><p>No  new  messages  were  on  your  phone.  So  you  shucked  it  into  your  grey  sweats  and  made  the  executive  decision  to  wander  into  the  kitchen  to  check  out  the  flower  situation  before  peeing.  That  way  you  could  know  what  sort  of  text  to  send  to  Steve  while  in  the  bathroom.</p><p>Yelena’s  Aunt’s  property  was  small,  historic  and  the  kitchen  was  no  different.</p><p>The  kitchen  was  <em>narrow</em>.</p><p>Old  weathered  wooden  floors  were  covered  with  rugs.  Wooden  cabinets  lined  the  walls  and  where  there  weren’t  cabinets,  there  was  white  tiles  on  the  walls  that  matched  the  white  counters.  For  some  reason  the  gas  stove  was  periwinkle  blue.</p><p>A  long  table  went  up  the  middle  of  the  kitchen,  taking  up  most  the  space  and  that  was  where  the  blonde  Yelena  sat,  her  back  to  you,  fussing  around  on  her  laptop  on  what  looked  like  a  banking  website.  Though  you  could  not  be  sure.  You  didn’t  speak  what  looked  like  the  Arabic  that  the  website  appeared  to  be  in.</p><p>Since  it  was  way  too  early  for  questions,  you  wiggled  around  the  table  to  where  the  flowers  were  located.</p><p>You  were  wowed.</p><p>They  were  stunning.</p><p>White  roses  mixed  with  white  peonies  and  daisies  made  up  the  biggest  bouquet  of  flowers  you’d  ever  gotten,  ever.  So  big  that  it  had  been  placed  in  the  metal  bucket  from  the  hall  closet.</p><p>Standing  at  that  oddly  colored  stove,  you  were  given  a  pointed  look  from  the  resident  teenager  in  your  home.  Her  southern  twang  as  pointed  as  the  look  you  were  getting  as  pancakes  cooked  on  the  stove.  “Sumbodies  date  musta  gone  well.  All  our  bills  are  paid  last  I  checked,  an  those  flowers…mmm,  you  said  you  wasn’t  gonna  do  anything  wit  whomever  it  was.”</p><p>Yelena  didn’t  even  look  up  from  whatever  she  was  doing  on  her  laptop.</p><p>All  the  bills  were  paid?</p><p>Well,  that  was  quick.</p><p>Surprised,  you  blinked  and  then  leaned  over  to  smell  the  flowers,  which  really  were  too  much.  “I  didn’t  do  anything  with  him.”</p><p>Yelena’s  typing  paused  long  enough  for  her  to  give  you  a  skeptical  look.  Even  Anna-Marie  turned  from  the  pancakes  so  she  could  cock  a  dark  eyebrow  at  you,  the  white  hair  framing  her  face  in  a  shocking  sea  of  chestnut.</p><p>“Seriously,”  you  added,  making  sure  to  pull  a  daisy  out  to  hand  over  to  the  fussing  little  Sparky,  belted  into  her  highchair,  reaching  out  with  little  fingers.  “It  was  only  dinner  and  then  he  got  me  a  taxi  home.”</p><p>A  skeptical  noise  came  from  behind  the  laptop.</p><p>Anna-Marie’s  face  only  grew  suspicious.  She  had  been  wary  about  the  whole  plan.  Yet  she  had  be  completely  opposed  to  the  bank  robbery  idea,  which  was  the  only  reason  she’d  even  considered  this  and  she’d  volunteered  to  be  the  lucky  one.  </p><p>Unfortunately,  you  told  her  she  couldn’t  since  she  might  accidentally  kill  someone  and  Yelena  couldn’t  do  it,  cause  she  might  intentionally  kill  someone.  Leaving  you  the  lucky  one.</p><p>“Yeah?  An  who  was  he?  Anybody  we’d  heard’a?”</p><p>A  happy  screech  came  from  Sparky.  You  traced  your  fingers  over  the  flowers  and  couldn’t  help  but  feel  like  Steve  was  the  type  of  guy  that  would  send  flowers  and  not  expect  something  in  return.  Which  was  ridiculous.  Considering  what  type  of  website  you’d  been  set  up  on.</p><p>By  some  slim  chance  of  luck,  a  scattered  newspaper  on  the  table  looked  up  at  you  and  on  the  front  of  the  NY Times  was  your  date  and  flower  sender.  Apparently,  he  was  set  to  go  to  DC  tomorrow  to  testify  before  congress  about  Enhanced  Human  Beings  Rights.  Leading  you  to  grab  the  paper,  fold  it  in  half  and  hold  it  up  for  Anna-Marie.</p><p>Needless  to  say,  the  pancake  that  she  was  flipping  wound  up  in  two  pieces  on  the  skillet.</p><p>Gleeful  noises  that  you  recognized  made  you  glance  down.</p><p>That  daisy  was  on  fire.</p><p>Leading  you  to  also  grab  it  and  blow  it  out  like  a  candle,  before  tossing  it  over  in  the  deep  kitchen  sink.</p><p>“Oh  Ma  Gawd.”</p><p>Anna-Marie  yanked  the  paper  from  you,  as  the  sight  of  flames  on  the  newspapers  scattered  over  the  table  got  your  attention.</p><p>Thus  leading  you  to  grab  one  of  the  many  boxes  of  open  baking  soda  located  all  over  the  townhome,  that  particular  one  being  up  on  the  counter,  and  dosing  the  flames  quickly  with  the  white  powdery  substance.  Inevitably  leading  to  more  unhappy  noises  from  the  little  one. </p><p>None  of  you  had  any  idea  how  old  she  was  and  were  too  frightened  to  take  her  to  a  normal  doctor,  for  obvious  reasons.</p><p>She  was  an  adorable  little  girl  with  three  whole  teeth  and  counting,  a  halo  of  dark  ringlets,  big  dark  eyes  and  a  gorgeous  bronze  complexion.  You  were  convinced  she  was  a  little  Hispanic  girl.  Anna-Marie  was  convinced  she  was  Native  America  while  Yelena  swore  up  and  down  that  the  little  girl  was  Indian.  So  it  was  anyone’s  guess.  All  you  all  knew  for  sure,  was  her  ears  were  pierced  with  little  diamond  studs  and  she  didn’t  like  being  told  no.</p><p>In  Anna-Marie’s  hand  the  paper  was  crumbled,  leading  you  to  slip  around  Sparky  to  focus  on  flipping  pancakes  to  add  to  the  big  plate  full  of  them  already.  Keeping  everyone  fed  was  something  of  a  full-time  gig.</p><p>“Serious?  You  serious?  You  had  dinner  wi’dis  man  here?”</p><p>Which  would  have  been  Anna-Marie</p><p>“What  man?”</p><p>Which  would  have  come  from  Yelena,  dropping  her  American  accent  completely  at  home,  for  whatever  Eastern  European  or  part  of  Russian  she  came  from.  </p><p>You  were  practically  living  up  in  the  United  Nations.</p><p>Flip.  Flip.  Flip.</p><p>“Dis  man  here.  Cap’in  Rogers.”</p><p>While  you  tossed  three  more  pancakes  onto  the  already  impressive  stack  and  used  up  the  last  of  the  batter  in  the  mixing  bowl,  sounds  of  little  feet  came  running  into  the  kitchen,  beautifully  paired  with  sounds  of  the  paper  being  fought  over.</p><p>Finally  though,  you  suspected  Yelena  won.</p><p>A  gloved  hand  grabbed  the  plate  piled  high  with  pancakes.  “A’ight  now.  You  boys  git  up  in  them  chairs.  We  ain’t  eatin  under  the  table  no  more.  Don’t  even  know  why  Y’lena  let  you  two  do  that  yis’terday.  Must’a  lost  her  damn  mind.  Bless  her  heart.”</p><p>Flip.  Flip.  Flip.</p><p>Since  the  boys  were  being  quiet,  you  could  only  assume  they  were  eating.  Making  you  inquire  about  your  resident  firestarter.  “Has  Sparky  been  fed?”  Sometimes  you  felt  kinda  bad  about  calling  her  that.  But  it  stuck  and  now  she  was  answering  to  it.  You’d  learned  your  lesson.  Next  time  someone  dropped  a  child  off  on  your  doorstep,  you’d  know  what  not  to  do.</p><p>According  to  Anna-Marie,  word  through  the  grapevine  had  travelled  about  your  home  being  a  safe  place  for  people  like  her  and  Kurt  and  Bruce  and  Sparky.  The  jury  was  still  out  on  Yelena  though.</p><p>Yelena  who  was  at  your  side.  Paper  folded  in  hand.  Steve’s  picture  staring  right  at  you  as  she  gestured  at  it  emphatically.  “Him?”</p><p>Not  wanting  to  risk  little  ears  hearing  anything,  you  merely  nodded.</p><p>Flip.  Flip.  Flip.</p><p>And  the  last  three  were  done.</p><p>You  stacked  them  up,  turned  and  plopped  them  onto  an  empty  plate  that  would  either  be  where  you  or  Anna-Marie  sat.</p><p>“This  is  not  a  good  idea.”</p><p>Already,  shockingly,  you  found  yourself  a  little  defensive  and  you’d  only  been  out  on  one  date  with  Steve.  Yelena’s  words  confirmation  that  a  part  of  you  was  right  for  not  wanting  to  see  Steve  again.  It  was  too  dangerous.  You  were  being  selfish.  You  had  needs  other  than  your  own  to  see  after.</p><p>What  did  you  say  though?  As  you  turned  off  the  gas  burner  and  moved  the  skillet  to  a  cool  burner.  “I’ve  already  considered  all  that,”  you  conceded  most  carefully,  as  sounds  of  silverware  on  plates  filled  the  kitchen.  As  Anna-Marie  sided  up  on  the  other  side  of  you  and  grabbed  some  metal  cooking  spoons  for  Sparky  to  bang  around.  As  all  of  your  wooden  ones  hadn’t  survived  the  first  week  with  the  baby.  “All  of  the  bills  are  paid  though.  Plus,  I  can  find  out  information  about  the  registration  act  that  may  not  be  in  the  news  this  way.  And  you  don’t  have  to  worry.  This  is  just  what  we  have  to  do  for  now.  You  both  know  I’m  more  of  an  Iron  Man  kinda  gal.”</p><p>Accompanying  nods  came  from  both  women  on  either  side  of  you.</p><p>“When  you  gonna  see’im  again?”</p><p>You  didn’t  want  to  sound  excited.  This  wasn’t  real.  This  wasn’t  a  relationship  that  would  amount  to  anything  in  the  future.  It  was  simply  a  mutually  beneficial  transaction  between  two  consenting  adults.</p><p>“Tonight,”  and  to  make  it  sound  like  you  had  everything  under  control,  you  tacked  on,  “I’m  gonna  ask  him  about  what’s  in  the  paper.  I’ll  come  back  here  after  work  for  a  few  hours  and  then  go.  Don’t  worry.  I’m  not  spending  the  night  with  him.  Did  you  call Kurt’s  tutor  to  ask  if  she  could  look  for  a  blind  piano  teacher  for  him?”</p><p>A  look  passed  between  Yelena  and  Anna-Marie.</p><p>You  knew  that  look.  It  was  not  a  good  look.</p><p>“Phone  doesn’t  work  anymore,”  was  simply  what  Yelena  told  you.</p><p>Blinking  in  surprise,  you  looked  between  the  women  yet  again.</p><p>Obviously,  she  meant  the  house  phone  since  Anna-Marie  refused  to  use  a  cell  phone  out  of  fear  of  being  found  out.  Yelena  had  many  phones  for  many  different  reasons,  none  of  which  she  ever  used  for  domestic  purposes.</p><p>“You  gonna  have  to  call’er  on  your  phone,”  Anna-Marie  remarked.</p><p>Jesus  Christ  on  a  stick.  You  were  only  gone  a  few  hours.  Why  the  hell  wasn’t  the  phone  working?  Like  that  cat  on  those  delightful  memes,  you  reared  back  to  look  over  by  the  entranceway,  where  a  phone  with  long  stretchy  cord  straight  out  of  your  childhood  was  mounted  to  the  wall.</p><p>Wires  stuck  out  of  it,  reminding  you  of  Einstein’s  hair.</p><p>“What  happened  to  the  phone?”</p><p>Something  had  definitely  happened  to  the  phone.</p><p>“Welllll…”  Anna-Marie  paused,  fussing  with  the  black  gloves  that  stretched  well  past  her  elbow.  “Bruce  wanted  to  try  an  call  Gotham  ag’in.  So  he  an  Kurt  rewired  it.”</p><p>“Did  it  work,”  was  what  you  wanted  to  know.</p><p>Politely,  Anna-Marie  shook  her  head.</p><p>Yelena  was  less  polite.  “Phone  now  only  calls  one  number.  Abuela’s  Confectionary  in  Little  Havana,  Miami.  Lovely  woman.”</p><p>Abuela’s  Confectionary?</p><p>For  which  there  was  only  one  response.</p><p>“Do  they  deliver?”</p><p>The  blonde  sighed  in  a  manner  that  let  you  know  she’d  asked  such  a  question.  “Not  to  Harlem.”</p><p>Which  was  just  your  luck.</p><p> </p><p>						***</p><p> </p><p>The  rest  of  your  morning  was  spent  around  the  townhome  you  all  lived  in.  Texting  Steve,  eating,  getting  Bruce  ready  for  school  and  Kurt  ready  for  his  blind  tutor.  Anna-Marie  would  stay  home  too,  to  work  on  her  GED  remotely  while  keeping  an  eye  on  Sparky.</p><p>All  in  all,  it  was  a  morning  like  any  other. </p><p>You’d  even  managed  to  grab  two  pancakes  in  your  haste.</p><p>Bruce  rode  the  subway  with  you  and  Yelena  to  Manhattan,  where  you  walked  him  to  school,  while  Yelena  went  ahead  to  do  whatever  it  was  that  she  did  before  meeting  you  at  the  restaurant  you  both  worked  in.</p><p>Your  day  became  a  day  like  any  other  essential.</p><p>Minus  your  texting.</p><p>Between  tables  and  waiting  on  orders  and  drinks,  you’d  sneak  into  a  corner  to  check  your  phone,  finding  yourself  somewhat  eager  to  see  if  you  had  a  new  message.</p><p>Usually  you  did.</p><p>
  <em>What  r  u  doing?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>In  a  few  minutes  I’m  giving  a  talk  to  a  local  high  school.  You?</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>U  have  fun  w  that  Im  at  work</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Where  do  you  work?</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>waiting  tables.  brb  go  focus  on  the  kids</em>
</p><p>And  later  in  your  shift.</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>What  time  can  you  come  over  tonight?  So  I  can  plan  accordingly.  No  pressure.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>idk  like  6ish?  I  can  text  when  I  head  your  way</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Perfect.  I’ll  plan  for  then  and  let  me  know  when  you’re  in  a  cab.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>One  of  your  favorite  exchanges  came  after  the  lunch  rush  had  died  down  and  you’d  had  a  chance  to  catch  your  breath,  be  somewhat  catty.  </p><p>
  <em>Whatever  happened  2  ur  beard</em>
</p><p>You  knew  that  you’d  caught  him  by  surprise  because  there  was  no  punctuation  in  his  response  of…</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>what</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ur  beard  from  ur  wanted  posters.  U  looked  really  good  w  it</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Thank  you.  I  think?</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>Between  texts  that  afternoon,  you  worked  and  nibbled  a  bit  on  something  that  could  have  been  considered  a  lunch.</p><p>Sometime  around  three  some  wall  street  guys  came  in.  Which  happened  to  be  right  around  the  time  when  Yelena  asked  if  you  could  watch  her  tables  for  half  an  hour  or  so,  so  she  could  go  pick  something  up  real  quick.</p><p>Not  wanting  to  know  anymore  than  that,  you  agreed  and  went  to  go  take  a  drink  order  from  the  gaggle  of  financiers.  All  in  suits  that  cost  more  money  than  you’d  see  in  a  day.  Laughing.  Joking.  Vibrantly  discussing  the  Enhanced  Peoples  proposed  registration  legislation  as  if  it  were  the  funniest  thing  ever.</p><p>Although  the  five  of  them  quieted  down  to  look  you  over  closely  when  you  approached, notepad  and  pen  in  hand.</p><p>Sharks.</p><p>They  reminded  you  of  sharks,  every  single  one  of  them.  They  looked  you  over  from  head  to  toe  like  a  piece  of  meat.</p><p>One  of  which,  most  likely  the  spokesman  of  the  group,  pointed  at  you  and  gave  you  a  charming  smirk.  “Wait…are  you…are  you  that  chick  who  is  dating  Steve  Rogers?”</p><p>Chick?</p><p>At  mention  of  that  particular  endearment  from  such  a  precious  soul,  you  cocked  your  hip  and  eyebrow.  More  than  ready  to  give  it  to  him  and  everyone  else  at  the  table,  who  now  looked  at  you  closely,  appraisingly.  </p><p>“Aren’t  you  just  the  cutest  thing  ever?  Baby…if  I  was  dating  Steve  Rogers,  former  Avenger,  do  you  think  I  would  be  here,  with  you  fine  gentleman,  waiting  tables  in  the  glory  that  is  the  Cheesecake  Factory?  Hmmm?”</p><p>A  few  chuckles  went  around  the  table.</p><p>Even  the  groups  spokesman  joined  in,  shaking  his  head  and  moving  on  from  the  silly  idea.</p><p>“What  do  you  boys  want  to  drink?  I  can  go  ahead  and  get  that  in  for  you  while  you  check  out  our  menu.”</p><p>As  if  calling  your  bluff,  you  felt  you  phone  ding  in  your  black  apron.</p><p> </p><p>						***</p><p> </p><p>It  was  a  little  after  six  thirty  when  sounds  of  knocking  filled  the  small  space  of  Steve’s  apartment.</p><p>You’d  previously  texted  him  that  you  were  on  your  way  over  and  he’d  begun  to  prep  and  cook,  and  maybe  lost  track  of  time  in  the  bear  trap  that  was  his  head  lately.  Early  tomorrow  morning  he’d  catch  a  flight  to  DC  and  was  already  going  over  the  points  he  wanted  to  make,  answers  to  possible  questions,  things  that  needed  to  be  communicated.</p><p>It  felt  like  only  seconds  had  passed  when  knocking  sounded  on  his  door.</p><p>Quickly  washing  his  hands,  Steve  dried  them  and  found  himself  hurrying  through  his  living  quarters  to  answer  the  door.  Dressed  as  casually  as  he  was  going  to  get.  Charcoal  slacks.  A  grey  shirt  with  the  sleeves  rolled  up.  Grey  tie  flipped  over  his  shoulder  and  a  belt  that  he  didn’t  really  need  around  his  waist.</p><p>Not  even  bothering  to  peek  through  the  peep-hole,  he  opened  the  door  and  was  greeted  to  the  sight  of  you.  </p><p>A  somewhat  exhausted  looking  you.</p><p>But  you  none-the-less.</p><p>Dressed  in  a  flowy  long  bohemian  looking  dress,  colorful  bracelets  up  one  wrist  and  a  chunky  ring  on  your  other  hand.  Your  hair  was  tousled  and  loose  and  while  there  was  a  big  smile  on  your  face,  you  looked  tired.</p><p>Gesturing  emphatically,  “Come  in.  Come  in.  Please.  Make  yourself  at  home.”</p><p>Urges  surged.</p><p>You  needed  to  be  taken  care  of.  You  needed  food,  to  relax,  a  big  glass  of  water  and  possibly  your  shoulders  rubbed.  There  was  a  soft  sweet  perfume  that  hung  around  you  as  you  strolled  inside  the  space  and  set  your  purse  down  on  a  corner  table,  beside  an  artful  bowl  filled  with  decorative  balls  that  no  straight  man  in  the  city  would  have  put  together.</p><p>“Whatever  you’re  making  smells  amazing.”</p><p>Steve  thanked  you.  He  might  have  even  hung  his  head  and  blushed  a  bit.  Then  after  pointing  out  where  the  bathroom  was,  he  hurried  back  into  the  kitchen  and  poured  you  a  glass  of  water,  more  than  pleased  when  you  moseyed  on  over  to  take  a  seat  up  on  a  stool  at  the  kitchen  counter  to  watch  him  cook  for  you.</p><p>That  glass  of  water  was  placed  very  much  in  front  of  you.  “I’ll  open  a  bottle  of  wine  next.”</p><p>He  loved  when  your  lips  quirked  up  in  the  corner.</p><p>“Yes  Sir.”</p><p>And  he  loved  that  response  even  more,  almost  as  much  as  when  you  listened  and  took  a  hearty  drink,  letting  him  care  for  you.  Boy  if  that  wasn’t  a  satisfying  feeling.  </p><p>To  be  wanted.</p><p>To  have  someone  to  care  for  and  look  after.</p><p>Looking  back  to  dinner  a  pleasant  silence  fell.  Having  precooked  the  chicken,  Steve  added  a  hearty  dash  of  olive  oil  to  the  pan,  followed  by  garlic  and  onions,  then  waited  as  previously  instructed  for  it  to  become  fragrant.</p><p>“When  do  you  leave  for  DC?”</p><p>He’d  told  you  in  a  text  but  you  hadn’t  asked  for  any  specifics  at  the  time.</p><p>Watching  the  onions  and  garlic  cook  closely  in  his  small  kitchen,  he  answered  you  with  equal  bits  of  his  attention  sent  your  way.  “I  have  an  early  flight.”</p><p>“How  long  you  think  you’ll  be  gone?”</p><p>Such  a  question  didn’t  bother  him.  If  anything,  Steve  appreciated  it,  was  almost  tempted  to  ask  if  you’d  want  to  come,  but  decided  it  was  too  soon  and  he  didn’t  want  to  frighten  you  off.  Didn’t  want  to  come  off  as  needy  or  demanding.  Not  with  what  he  had  in  store  for  the  rest  of  the  evening.</p><p>As  said  fragrance  reached  its  peak,  Steve  prepared  to  add  the  tomatoes  he  had  cut  up.  Sure  he  could  have  used  canned  tomatoes.  But,  as  his  cooking  teacher  said,  it  was  just  as  easy  to  cut  your  own  and  anything  worth  doing  was  worth  doing  right.  </p><p>“Not  long.  I’ll  probably  stay  the  night  in  case  I  get  called  back  the  next  day  and  if  not,  I’ll  head  back  that  next  night.”</p><p>Steam  rose  when  chopped  tomatoes  hit  the  pan  and  you  made  yourself  comfy,  sipped  the  glass  of  chilled  water  from  the  pitcher  in  the  fridge  and  watched  Steve  cook.  There  was  something  about  watching  him  cook  and  making  small  inconsequential  talk  that  was  downright  soothing.  From  watching  his  hands  work  surely,  noticing  how  tightly  his  rolled-up  sleeves  banded  around  his  muscular  limbs,  to  those  veins  on  his  wrists  and  that  tie  flung  over  his  shoulder.  It  was  way  sexier  than  it  had  any  business  being.  </p><p>Around  the  time  Steve  had  added  the  meat  in  with  the  cheeses  and  spinach  and  milk,  to  let  the  aromatic  smelling  pot  simmer,  the  noodles  were  boiling  on  their  way  to  done  and  your  tummy  was  letting  it  be  known  that  it  was  ready  to  party.</p><p>Right  around  then  was  when  Steve  spoke  up.  In  a  way  reminding  you  that  this  was  not  an  every-day  meal  over  at  a  friend’s  house,  this  was  not  a  regular  date.  You  were  here  for  a  reason.  There  were  expectations.  This  was  no  social  visit.</p><p>“I’ve  been  thinking  about  last  night.  About  what  you  did  and  I  think  we  should  set  down  some  more  ground  rules.”</p><p>What  had  you  done?</p><p>That  statement  sounded  vaguely  threatening  and  when  Steve  looked  your  way,  you  knew  that  indeed,  the  game  was  now  afoot.</p><p>“Ok?”</p><p>What  else  could  you  say?</p><p>Steve  went  around  taking  plates  from  cabinets  and  setting  them  up  on  the  counter  near  you,  on  place  settings  with  cloth  napkins  and  silverware  already  set  out.  Chatting  as  if  the  two  of  you  were  discussing  weather,  or  something  going  on  in  the  city.  “Now  I  realize  that  you  didn’t  know  and  it  was  our  first  date  last  night.  Therefore,  I’ll  go  lenient  on  you  for  paying  for  dinner.  A  spanking  will  be  sufficient.  But  in  the  future,  anytime  we  go  anywhere,  it  should  be  assumed  that  I  will  be  paying.  Is  that  understood?”</p><p>Right  around  the  time  the  ‘spanking’  in  question  was  brought  up,  you  reacted.  You  physically  reacted  in  surprise  to  these  words  that  had  come  from  his  mouth,  while  you  observed  him  set  down  the  dinner  plates  with  great  care.</p><p>“A  spanking?  You  want  to  spank  me  tonight?”</p><p>Undisturbed  in  the  slightest,  he  gave  you  this  sincere  nod,  as  if  he  had  not  at  one  time  been  the  shining  beacon  for  all  things  good  and  straight  laced.</p><p>If  only  he  had  that  beard  when  he  told  you  he  planned  to  spank  you.</p><p>Your  hand  gripped  your  glass  of  water.</p><p>“Yes.  Three  should  be  suitable  to  drive  my  point  home  and  give  you  an  idea  of  what  the  consequence  is  for  bad  behavior.”</p><p>The  way  he  said  it,  as  if  it  were  totally  normal.  It  left  you  gaping.  Blinking.  Unable  to  comprehend.</p><p>“Have  you  ever  been  spanked  before?”</p><p>The  previous  Captain  Fucking  America  was  actually  asking  that  question,  making  you  feel  a  swarm  of  heat  travel  up  your  neck.  All  you  could  do  to  answer  was  nod  in  affirmation.</p><p>“And?”  He  inquired  as  he  went  to  check  on  the  pasta.</p><p>Almost  immediately  at  the  memory,  your  eyes  went  down  to  your  lap.  “It  was  ok.  Nothing  too  special.”</p><p>He  was  calm.  </p><p>Totally  normal.</p><p>You  were  squirming  up  on  your  stool.</p><p>After  having  stirred  his  boiling  pasta,  Steve  lowered  the  temperature.  “Obviously  he  didn’t  do  it  correctly.”</p><p>A  questioning  noise  came  from  you.</p><p>It  was  far  more  rewarding  than  it  should  have  been  and  Steve  found  himself  asking,  knowing  exactly  how  much  longer  his  pasta  had  to  cook  before  it  was  done.  “Would  you  like  your  punishment  now?  Before  we  eat?  Or  after?  I  want  you  to  enjoy  your  meal  with  me  tonight.”</p><p>Heaven  help  him,  you  were  somewhere  on  the  scale  between  nervous  and  excited  and  there  was  no  way  you  were  getting  through  dinner  in  that  state.  Which  was  his  own  fault  for  bringing  it  up.  Although,  how  could  he  not?  Steve  so  very  much  wanted  to  get  his  hands  on  you.  You  were  now  his  girl  after  all.</p><p>“Take  your  dress  off.  Go  have  a  seat  on  my  couch.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>What  indeed?</p><p>Turning  off  the  meat  and  sauce,  covering  it  and  setting  it  aside.  Steve  cut  you  some  slack.  It  was  your  second  date  after  all  “I  don’t  think  that’s  what  we  say  in  response  to  a  simple  request.”</p><p>A  pause.</p><p>Hesitation.</p><p>Off  went  the  burner  beneath  the  pasta  which  Steve  moved  onto  a  cool  burner,  then  covered  that  pot  too.</p><p>“Yes  Sir.”</p><p>Yes  Sir  was  exactly  what  he  was  looking  for  in  response.  And  you  two  were  still  getting  to  know  one  another.  “Good  girl.  And  my  good  girl  knows  that  she  can  say  no?  She  can  say  wait,  hold  on,  stop,  I  need  a  minute  and  most  importantly,  no?”</p><p>Because  that  was  equally  as  important  as  any  ‘Yes  Sir,’  and  the  somewhat  hesitant  nod  you  gave  him,  a  slow  one,  as  if  trying  to  determine  where  it  was  he  was  going  with  this,  set  the  tone  for  the  rest  of  Steve’s  plans.  </p><p>One  did  not  execute  a  plan  without  all  the  information  available.  It  was  simply  common  sense.</p><p>“Take  off  your  dress.  Go  stand  by  my  couch.  I’ll  be  right  there.  If  I  have  to  say  it  a  third  time,  you’ll  get  three  more  spankings.”</p><p>Regardless,  you  were  getting  spanked.  Your  ass  was  going  to  be  red  from  your  previous  audacity  alone.  Any  other  boundary  that  he  discovered,  a  limit  he  found,  information  he  unearthed  was  merely  a  plus.</p><p>Dinner  would  be  fine.  </p><p>By  the  time  he  was  done  the  noodles  would  be  soft  and  everything  would  keep.</p><p>First  there  were  important  things  that  needed  doing.  You  had  two  important  lessons  to  learn  before  dinner.  Whether  you  knew  it  or  not.</p><p>Obedient  you  were.  </p><p>Shedding  your  billowy  dress  and  tossing  it  onto  a  chair  as  Steve  had  asked  you,  without  looking  at  him,  without  saying  anything,  you  found  yourself  down  to  your  lacy  white  bra  and  panties.  None  of  that  burn  he  felt  in  his  blood  from  dinner  the  previous  night  lingered.  No.  There  was  none  of  that  and  Steve  wanted  what  he  felt  from  last  night.  This  going  through  the  motions  was  a  big  no.  It  was  what  he  wanted  to  avoid.</p><p>You  said  nothing  when  he  instructed  you  to  climb  up  on  his  wooden  coffee  table.  Which  appeared  to  have  been  carved  from  one  large  piece  of  tree.  Not  that  you  were  a  tree  expert.  But  that  was  what  your  gut  told  you.</p><p>Not  a  word  or  noise,  not  even  a  syllable  came  from  you  when  Steve  loosened  his  tie  and  popped  the  top  button  at  his  collar.</p><p>A  look  of  bewildered  concern  filled  your  face.  And  that  was  it.</p><p>And  that  wouldn’t  do  at  all.</p><p>Nope.</p><p>Gesturing  for  you  to  get  down  on  your  hands  and  knees,  Steve  was  almost  disappointed  in  you  when  you  silently  followed  the  non-verbal  instruction.  Almost.  Because  Steve  had  a  plan.  Steve  strongly  suspected  he  knew  what  you  needed  to  fix  one  of  your  problems, the  one  you  were  providing  him  with  that  very  second.</p><p>In  a  move  that  he  could  see  Natasha  giving  him  one  of  her  arched  eyebrows  in  response  to,  Steve  gave  your  supple  bottom  an  open-handed  slap  that  was  a  bit  harder  than  he’d  originally  intended.  Without  a  doubt,  it  would  be  red  very  soon.  Not  much  of  his  strength  had  been  tapped  into.  But  it  was  still  harder  than  anything  you’d  likely  dealt  with  and  he  was  rewarded  immediately.</p><p>A  loud  shrill  shriek  came  from  you.</p><p>It  made  the  hairs  on  the  back  of  his  neck  rise  instinctively.</p><p>Up  you  popped  on  your  knees.  Breasts  bouncing  in  your  bra.  Both  of  your  hands  reaching  back  to  hold  your  fabulous  ass  cheek.  After  Steve  was  done  reddening  up  your  ass,  he  was  very  much  going  to  look  forward  to  rubbing  aloe  over  those  plump  cheeks.</p><p>“You  hit  me!  Sir!”</p><p>Your  outrage  was  tangible.  Steve  wasn’t  entirely  positive  you  wouldn’t  hit  him  back.  He  almost  sort  of  hoped  you  did.</p><p>“Oh  good.  You  do  remember  the  spoken  language.  I  was  beginning  to  grow  concerned  that  you  were  on  the  other  side  of  the  website.  I’m  not  looking  for  a  mindless  sex  starved  cock-slave.”</p><p>Outrage  bloomed  into  sheer  volatile  fury.  It  made  him  thicken  up  in  his  pants.</p><p>“I  wasn’t  on  that  side  of  the  website!  Shit!  That’s  going  to  leave  a  mark!”</p><p>This  was  what  he  wanted.  He  wanted  fire  and  fight  and  someone  who  could  make  his  dick  hard  without  touching  him.  He  wanted  someone  that  didn’t  need  to  be  taken  care  of,  he  wanted  someone  who  wanted  to  be  taken  care  of  because  that’s  what  they  preferred.  It  was  so  much  more  enjoyable.  “Do  you  want  me  to  stop?”</p><p>If  he  was  getting  hard  before,  your  next  words  kept  him  going.</p><p>“No  Sir!  I  don’t  want  you  to  stop!  I  just  want  you  to  know  that  I’m  not  going  to  be  able  to  sit  tomorrow  without  feeling  your  handprint  seared  into  my  ass!”</p><p>And  he  was  almost  there.  </p><p>Was  it  even  possible  for  him  to  feel  your  words  in  his  balls?  Had  they  always  been  that  tight?</p><p>“That’s  kinda  the  point  princess.  This  is  your  punishment  for  last  night.  I  want  you  to  feel  my  handprint  seared  into  your  ass  every  time  you  take  a  step,  when  you  sit  down,  when  you  bend  over,  all  day  and  night.  And  maybe  next  time,  you’ll  think  twice  before  breaking  one  of  my  rules.  Now  get  back  on  your  hands.”</p><p>Somewhat  testily,  you  slammed  your  hands  down  onto  the  table.  As  if  to  make  a  point  to  him  or  something.</p><p>Again,  he  smacked  you,  on  the  other  cheek  though.  White  lace  barely  hiding  the  forming  red.</p><p>An  equally  loud  scream  came  from  you.  Followed  by  a  rousing,  “Shit  Steve!  Sir!  I’m  sorry!  I  apologize  for  paying  for  dinner!”</p><p>Not  wanting  to  hear  how  sorry  you  were,  Steve  observed  the  curve  of  your  ass  and  thighs  instead.  Much  in  the  same  way  an  artist  would  observe  a  work  of  art.  “You  have  a  beautiful  ass.  One  of  these  days…I’m  going  to  enjoy  it  very  much.”</p><p>While  you  were  distracted  by  those  particular  words,  Steve  delivered  the  final  blow  to  both  of  your  cheeks,  for  god  and  country  and  his  own  satisfaction.  Completing  your  punishment.  Satisfying  that  part  of  him  that  wanted  very  much  to  mark  up  your  ass  and  drag  you  out  of  that  unfortunate  headspace  you’d  been  in.</p><p>Up  you  popped  once  more.  Hands  rushing  back  to  touch  your  reddening  flesh  that  was  definitely  going  to  be  bruised  come  morning.  If  there  was  any  concern  about  your  almost  nudity,  it  seemed  to  be  gone.  Allowing  Steve  free  reign  to  look  at  your  luscious  shape.</p><p>“You  actually  spanked  me!  Like,  really  spanked  me!”</p><p>“I  did,”  Steve  conceded.  “And  you  took  your  punishment  valiantly.”</p><p>Now  Steve  was  unsure  of  what  part  of  those  words  you  took  greatest  offense  to,  but,  there  was  something  that  came  from  his  mouth  that  had  you  looking  about  ready  to  gut  him  with  his  own  kitchen  knives.  Making  him  love  every  second  of  your  reaction.</p><p>Reaching  out  for  him,  Steve  let  you  pull  him  closer  and  closer,  until  he  was  kneeling  on  the  coffee  table  right  there  with  you.  </p><p>Your  hands  were  rough  and  a  little  frantic,  as  they  sank  into  his  shirt,  pulled  him  closer  to  you.  Until  Steve  finally  told  you.  “You  can  touch  me.  I  very  much  want  you  to  touch  me.  I  want  you  to  talk  to  me.  But  I’m  not  going  to  touch  you  unless  I  know  you  want  me  to  touch  you.”</p><p>All  of  which  was  great  and  good  and  you’d  ponder  through  at  a  later  time.</p><p>Oh  you’d  touch. </p><p>You’d  touch  him  all  right. </p><p>Never  in  your  life  had  you  ever  been  so  angrily  turned  on.  Now  you  had  a  firm  understanding  of  the  term  <em>violently  aroused</em>,  perhaps  down  on  to  spiritual  level.  Fingernails  dug  into  the  button  up  shirt.  You  yanked  and  pulled  on  it.  A  desire  to  slap  the  shit  out  of  Steve,  kiss  him,  bite  him,  scratch  him,  drag  your  tongue  over  the  hard  muscle  beneath  his  shirt  overcame  you  in  a  fury.</p><p>Viciously  you  seethed  at  him.  “Take  your  clothes  off!  Take  off  your  clothes!”</p><p>Buttons  popped  open  at  impressive  speed.  You  yourself  pushed  his  shirt  down  massive  shoulders,  over  thick  arms  corded  with  muscle  and  veins.  God  bless  America,  was  the  first  thought  that  came  to  mind,  merely  at  the  sight  of  his  chest.  Never  in  your  life  had  you  seen  an  abdomen  that  defined,  or  those  muscles  that  dipped  from  his  sculpted  pelvis  into  his  pants.  Dark  golden  hair  also  led  down  into  those  pants.</p><p>Having  no  idea  where  his  shirt  went,  nor  caring,  you  dragged  your  tongue  over  a  pec  that  was  far  firmer  than  any  part  of  you,  which  you  found  fascinating  and  were  almost  upset  when  you  were  pulled  aside,  yanked  away  from  the  manly  taste  of  Steve’s  skin.  Warm.  Soft.  Smooth  and  there  was  a  hint  of  something  that  had  to  be  bodywash  that  only  just  barely  lingered.</p><p>He  slanted  his  mouth  over  yours.</p><p>You  bit  at  him.</p><p>Steve  grabbed  your  face  between  his  hands,  deepened  the  kiss,  prevented  you  from  nipping  at  him  to  a  degree.  As  it  would  be  hard  to  bite  someone  when  their  tongue  explored  your  mouth,  toyed  with  your  own.</p><p>You  were  overwhelmed,  overheated.  Your  chest  was  pulled  against  his  as  your  bottom  continued  to  throb  as  if  it  were  ripped  open.  </p><p>In  the  second  he  pushed  his  covered  erection  against  your  stomach,  you  gasped  against  his  mouth  in  surprise.  Feeling  it  for  the  first  time.  Without  even  seeing  it,  you  knew  you’d  never  encountered  a  penis  that  large.</p><p>A  hiss,  or  possibly  a  pop,  came  from  Steve  when  he  pulled  his  mouth  from  yours.  “Don’t  worry  about  it.  We’re  not  making  love  tonight.”</p><p>“Wait…what…?”</p><p>Back  he  pulled,  dark  blue  gaze  falling  over  your  confused  expression.  </p><p>“What  do  you  mean  we’re  not  having sex?”  As  you  were  confused.  If  the  circus  tent  in  his  slacks  was  any  indicator,  he  was  more  than  ready  for  some  slap  and  tickle  funtime.  And  the  slapping  part  was  already  done.  </p><p>As  if  this  were  all  normal  and  your  second  date  was  going  peachy  keen,  Steve  shared.  “You  acted  weird  when  I  told  you  to  take  off  your  clothes.  I’m  not  comfortable  taking  this  evening  to  that  level,  not  until  we’re  both  on  the  same  page.  Maybe  next  time  you’ll  remember  to  give  me  an  adequate  response  when  I  ask  you  a  question.  You’re  my  girl  now.  There  are  rules  and  expectations  of  you.”</p><p>Speechless.</p><p>This  man  had  rendered  you  speechless.</p><p>Not  when  he  had  smacked  your  ass  moments  earlier.  No.  He’d  taken  it  right  from  you  with  a  firm  tone  and  words  that  you  should  have  been  comforted  by,  appreciated  even.  All  things  considered,  based  on  the  size  of  his  tenting  and  how  your  hindquarters  felt  alive  with  fire,  you  probably  should  have  agreed.  After  all,  you’d  apparently  taken  your  punishment  valiantly,  whatever  the  hell  that  meant.  This  was  all  so  new  for  you.  “So  you…don’t  even  want  a  blowjob?  You’re  going  to  send  me  home  with  that  thing  in  your  pants…in  that  condition?”</p><p>This  man  was  infuriating.  </p><p>No  wonder  he  had  been  a  war  criminal.  Steve  was  turning  out  to  be  quite  the  little  handful  and  suddenly,  you  got  it.  Lightning  struck.  Things  were  making  sense.  Understanding  of  why  he  was  on  that  website  became  clear,  like  a  Super-Target  on  the  horizon  when  you  had  an  hour  to  waste  and  nothing  to  do.</p><p>And  good  god  was  he  big.</p><p>Did  he  have  specially  made  clothing?  Where  did  he  shop  to  accommodate  those  broad  ass  shoulders?</p><p>“No.  I  want  so  much  more  than  a  blowjob  from  you.  Therefore,  you  had  best  make  sure  to  be  on  your  best  behavior  next  time  we’re  together.  That  includes  telling  me  when  you  are  uncomfortable.”</p><p>You  couldn’t  believe  it.</p><p>You  could  not  believe  it!</p><p>This  was  an  absolute  first  for  you.</p><p>Your  shock  must  have  been  evident  because  Steve  pressed  his  forehead  to  yours,  brushing  the  bridge  of  his  nose  against  your  own.  It  pained  him.  Pained  him  greatly.  Yet,  you  needed  to  learn.  You  needed  to  understand.  You  had  to  unequivocally  know  that  he  would  do  whatever  he  wanted  with  you,  and  you  could  always  tell  him  no  and  he  would  listen.  “Do  you  want  to  see?  Want  to  know  what  to  think  about  when  you  go  home  and  sit  on  your  vibrator?”</p><p>Of  course  you  did.  You  were  only  human.</p><p>For  fear  if  you  weren’t  vocal  enough,  you’d  get  in  even  more  trouble,  you  resoundingly  told  the  man.  “Yeah.  Please  god  yes.”</p><p>Big  hands  unhooked  his  belt  briskly.  Not  hurriedly,  but  with  a  purpose  in  mind.  </p><p>Using  your  own  hands,  you  pushed  the  fabric  of  his  pants  aside  once  the  button  was  turned  and  the  zipper  went  down.</p><p>One  of  Steve’s  big  hands  pulled  out  a  piece  of  male  anatomy  that  before  entering  his  apartment,  you  thought  you  were  familiar  with  and  had  totally  demystified.  Clearly  you  had  been  wrong,  so  wrong,  all  kinds  of  wrong.  </p><p>“Nothing  will  ever  fill  you  like  me.  It’ll  never  be  as  good  with  a  toy  as  it  is  with  me.  Remember  that,  when  you  shove  that  piece  silicone  inside  of  you  one  last  time.”</p><p>And  it  wasn’t  even  like  he  was  wrong.</p><p>One  look  at  the  thing  between  those  thick  thighs  had  you  wondering,  would  you’d  ever  be  able  to  be  with  another  man  after  him,  forget  your  toy.  You  could  ceremoniously  bury  that  in  the  backyard  in  a  shoebox  with  full  honors.  There  would  be  no  coming  back  from  Steve’s  dick.  Nope.  It  was  solid  beneath  you  fingers.  In  wrapping  your  hand  around  it,  your  fingers  didn’t  even  touch.  Fuck  was  it  hard.  Like  warm  velvet  wrapped  in  steel.</p><p>All  thoughts  of  dinner  and  your  second  date  together,  everything  just  vanished,  was  gone.  In  fact,  you  didn’t  even  really  notice  his  hands  on  you,  his  mouth  along  your  neck.</p><p>You  were  unable  to  get  over  his  body.</p><p>Your  greedy  little  hands  were  all  over  Steve  in  a  way  you’d  never  been  with  a  partner  prior.  Maybe  it  was  that  special  little  part  of  your  brain  that  had  made  you  wet  from  the  spanking,  got  you  all  hot  and  bothered  when  he  took  that  tone  with  you.  The  one  that  made  you  want  so  desperately  to  call  him  Sir.</p><p>When  your  hands  weren’t  smoothing  over  his  rigid  cock,  they  were  tracing  the  defined  hard  lines  of  his  pelvis  and  stomach,  scratching  his  sides  till  red  nail  marks  rose  on  his  flesh,  wrapping  around  to  both  grip  and  squeeze  his  back.  He  was  simply  too  long,  too  big,  too  much  of  everything  to  properly  explore  all  at  once.  Not  when  he  was  moving  around  beside  you,  doing  something  to  your  neck  with  his  tongue  that  had  you  squirming  against  him  and  forgetting  to  care  that  your  butt  was  still  on  fire.</p><p>A  big  hand  came  down  to  cup  you  between  your  thighs  and  that  was  all.  There  was  no  sinking  into  you,  no  penetrative  touches  or  accidental  clit  contact.  Which  made  you  crazy,  had  you  pushing  up  against  Steve’s  palm  for  any  little  bit  of  friction.</p><p>He  had  to  stop  soon.</p><p>If  he  didn’t  put  an  end  to  this,  Steve  would  gladly  spend  the  rest  of  the  night  on  the  coffee  table  with  you  and  he  had  yet  to  feed  you  dinner.  He  had  yet  to  discuss  the  terms  of  the  two  of  yours  arrangement,  because  that  no  sleepover  thing  was  a  bit  of  a  problem  for  him  already.  You  were  getting  deeper  in  his  head  it  wasn’t  fair.</p><p>Steve  wanted  to  know  more  about  you.  Where  you  spent  your  nights  in  Harlem.  Where  and  why  you  worked,  considering  how  much  money  you’d  gotten.  He  wanted  to  spend  more  time  exploring  your  body.  He  had  to  care  for  your  bottom  and  feed  you  next,  plus  show  you  how  you  deserved  to  be  treated  as  his  precious  girl. </p><p>Something  already  had  to  change.  Either  you  had  to  start  spending  the  night  or  quit  your  job.</p><p>At  the  knowledge  that  his  time  was  limited  with  you  for  the  rest  of  the  evening,  his  chest  tightened  and  the  date  wasn’t  even  over.</p><p>He  could  practically  hear  a  sing  song  <em>told  you  so</em>  coming  from  Natasha.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The morning off</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In  the  days  that  followed  his  return  back  to  Brooklyn,  Steve  found  himself  most  unsatisfactorily  busy.  Unpleasantly  so.  Meaning  that  his  time  with  you  was  of  the  text  or  phone  call  variety.  And  that  was  even  more  unsatisfactory.  Irritating  him  to  unreasonable  levels  because  it  was  his  own  fault.  </p>
<p>Previously  having  stacked  his  schedule  to  keep  busy,  to  keep  his  mind  off  Natasha  and  Tony,  to  not  think  about  the  things  he’d  done  and  said  and  wonder…could  he  have  done  something  different,  made  different  choices,  could  he  have  made  things  turn  out  differently?</p>
<p>Now  things  were  changing.  </p>
<p>His  life  was  changing  and  growing  and  now,  now,  now  his  days  were  packed  and  even  his  evenings  were  packed  too,  with  either  group  meetings,  lectures  or  planning  out  for  the  coming  days.</p>
<p>Steve  was  utterly  done  with  himself.</p>
<p>Done.</p>
<p>He’d  been  so  freaking  busy  that  week  he  didn’t  even  have  a  chance  to  go  running  in  the  mornings.  His  days  so  full  he  found  he  wasn’t  missing  that  exercise,  as  he  made  it  up  during  the  busy  days.</p>
<p>Only  on  his  fifth  day  home  did  he  have  a  morning  free  by  some  miracle.</p>
<p>Steve  had  no  idea  how  it  had  happened,  nor  was  he  going  to  let  any  of  that  precious  time  slide.  He  went  for  his  usual  run  which  he  doubled  in  time  because  why  not?  He  made  a  big  breakfast  and  did  some  work  afterwards  on  his  computer.  A  thought  that  he  should  go  out  later  a  little  early,  before  his  late  afternoon  appointment  up  in  Harlem  to  an  art  store.  Over  the  past  few  days  he  had  an  urge  to  sketch.  A  little  need  to  keep  his  hands  busy.  A  desire  to  scribble  out  things  he  saw,  things  that  caught  his  eye,  things  he  wanted  to  remember.  The  inside  of  his  book  that  he’d  brought  with  him  to  DC  was  covered  in  little  things  he’d  drawn  out.  By  the  time  he  got  back  to  Brooklyn,  there  were  doodles  everywhere  in  it.</p>
<p>Right  around  the  time  Steve  began  to  look  up  art  shops  in  the  area,  his  phone  dinged.</p>
<p>Blindly,  he  reached  for  it.</p>
<p>Reached  across  his  desk  without  lifting  his  eyes  from  his  laptop,  Steve  grabbed  his  phone  and  after  clicking  on  a  link,  risked  a  peek  at  his  screen.</p>
<p>
  <em>One  of  the  other  girls  wanted  my  shift.  U  up  2  anything?  I’m  free  till  after  lunch</em>
</p>
<p>Steve  blinked.</p>
<p>It  was  from  you.</p>
<p>Before  he  could  think  straight,  he  was  unlocking  his  phone  and  sending  you  a  text  back.  Wondering  what  cosmic  forces  had  aligned  to  bring  him  this  luck?  How?  How!</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>Yes.  Come  to  my  apartment.  I’m  here.</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>Not  caring  in  the  least  how  his  stars  had  lined  up,  Steve  was  up  on  his  feet.  With  a  swipe  of  his  hand  his  laptop  was  shut.  Did  he  dare  shave?  It’d  been  since  the  morning  you’d  teased  him  about  his  beard  that  he  had  last  fully  shaved.  His  apartment  was  neat.  It  was  always  neat.  His  bed  was  always  made.  Maybe  he  should  make  you  something  to  eat?  It  was  almost  nine  in  the  morning  and…</p>
<p>Knocking.</p>
<p>Someone  was  knocking  on  his  door.</p>
<p>Who  on  earth  was  knocking  on  his  door?  No  one  ever  knocked  on  his  door  except…was  it  you?  Were  you  already  here  when  you  texted?</p>
<p>Far  too  quickly  he  hurried  away  from  the  corner  where  his  desk  was  located.</p>
<p>Was  it  you?</p>
<p>Dear  god  let  it  be  you.</p>
<p>Steve  didn’t  care  that  his  hair  was  damp.  Nor  did  he  particularly  care  that  he  was  a  bit  too  casually  dressed.  Khakis  with  no  belt.  A  white  undershirt  without  the  blue  button-up  he  had  yet  to  iron.  </p>
<p>Usually  he’d  never  answer  the  door  dressed  like  that.</p>
<p>This  was  not  a  usual  day  for  him.  It  had  been  almost  an  entire  week  since  he’d  seen  you  in  person.  It  was  becoming  something  of  an  issue.  He  was  dangerously  close  to  digging,  looking  into  the  information  his  accountant  had  sent  over  about  all  of  the  bills  he’d  paid  of  yours.  All  of  which  would  without  a  doubt  allow  him  to  figure  out  where  you  lived,  where  you  worked,  maybe  swing  by,  see  what  you  were  doing  and  no,  no,  he  wasn’t  going  to  do  that,  he  was  going  to  wait  until  you  told  him.  Steve  was  going  to  build  up  that  trust  between  the  two  of  you.  You  had  been  hesitant  on  your  first  date  when  setting  eyes  on  him.  One  day,  you  were  going  to  welcome  him  into  your  home  and  he  was  going  to  be  sure  of  that  fact.</p>
<p>Until  then,  he  had  work  to  do.</p>
<p>Hastily  he  unlocked  the  door  and  had  it  open,  again  not  even  bothering  to  peek  through  the  little  hole.</p>
<p>Like  before,  you  were  standing  there  for  him.</p>
<p>And  just  like  before,  when  you  came  over  that  first  time,  you  made  his  heart  stop.  Even  wearing  black  slacks  and  a  white  button-up  shirt  that  were  clearly  what  you  wore  to  work.  A  knowing  look  on  your  face  turned  into  something  with  heat,  something  that  made  his  dick  twitch  when  you  took  in  his  well-trimmed  beard.  </p>
<p>Very  well  trimmed.</p>
<p>Possibly  overly  trimmed.</p>
<p>On  more  than  one  occasion  over  the  past  few  days  he’d  gone  into  the  bathroom  with  the  intent  to  shave  it.  But…he  could  not,  not  yet.  He  couldn’t  do  it.  Not  after  what  you  said  about  his  other  beard  and  besides,  he  could  always  shave  it  if  you  didn’t  like  it.</p>
<p>Not  that  it  seemed  like  that  was  going  to  be  a  problem.</p>
<p>“Oh  Steve…”  came  from  you,  followed  by  a  look  of  purely  feminine  approval.  In  really  ugly  black  loafers,  you  stepped  up  to  him  to  run  your  fingers  through  his  facial  hair.  Brushed  your  thumb  along  the  curve  of  his  lower  lip.  “This  is  nice.  I  like  this  on  you.”</p>
<p>Jesus  Christ  he’d  never  shave  his  face  again.</p>
<p>“Can  I  come  in  Steve?”</p>
<p>Jesus  Christ  where  were  his  manners?</p>
<p>“Yes!”  Came  out  quickly,  sharply.  </p>
<p>An  amused  look  came  from  you,  because  you  clearly  knew  exactly  what  you  did  to  him.  </p>
<p>“Yes,  come  in.  Please.  You  look  lovely,”  and  he  was  pre-serum  tiny  again,  his  heart  pounded,  blood  rushed  through  his  ears.  No  thought  or  planning  had  gone  into  this  encounter.  No  meal  planned,  no  activities  organized  to  ensure  you  had  a  great  time.  A  noise  that  hinted  at  your  dubiousness  of  his  claim  that  you  looked  lovely  came  from  you  when  you  sauntered  on  in.  Hips  moving  hypnotically  so  in  those  black  slacks.  Your  ass  too.  Granted  that  always  looked  amazing  no  matter  what  you  had  on.  Even  if  it  was  a  pair  of  panties  with  his  handprint  inflamed  onto  you  in  the  shape  of  his  hand.</p>
<p>Which  he  could  <em>not</em>  think  about  right  now  while  wearing  khakis.  The  last  thing  he  needed  was  you  thinking  that  this  was  a  purely  physical  transactional  relationship.  On  your  third  encounter  no  less.</p>
<p>All  your  hundred,  possibly  thousands  of  texts  didn’t  count.  Nor  did  the  hours  on  the  phone  talking  late  into  the  night.</p>
<p>No.  Steve  wanted  to  take  care  of  you  and  show  you  how  you  deserved  to  be  treated,  someone  as  wonderful  and  magnetic  and  precious  as  you.</p>
<p>“Tell  me  Steve…what  have  you  been  up  to?”</p>
<p>That  time  he  made  sure  to  lock  his  door.</p>
<p>Why?</p>
<p>He  had  no  idea.  All  he  knew  was  he  really  didn’t  want  to  be  disturbed.  As  it  was,  he  was  having  a  really  hard  time  remembering  what  on  earth  he’d  been  doing  before  your  text,  before  he  got  up  to  let  you  in.  He  couldn’t  quite  think  straight  when  you  looked  at  him  like  that,  with  that  knowing  little  smirk  on  your  face.  With  your  hands  behind  your  back.  God  dammit  what  had  he  been  doing?  He’d  literally  just  been  doing  it  and  now  nothing.</p>
<p>“Sir?  Is  something  wrong?  Is  there  something  that  I  can  do  for  you?  Do  you  need  me  to  do  something  for  you?  Or  want  me  to  do  something  to  you?”</p>
<p>Such  sass.</p>
<p>Such  a  mouth.</p>
<p>Yeah,  now  that  you  mentioned  it,  there  was  something  that  you  could  do  for  him.  “How  long  do  you  have  off  till?”</p>
<p>You  turned  to  not  walk  around,  took  in  the  sight  of  a  pre-decorated  living  area/open  kitchen  with  absolutely  no  personalized  touches.  No  pictures  on  the  wall  remotely  related  to  Steve.  No  original  art  hung.  Nothing  hinting  at  anything  other  than  a  tasteful  showroom  display.  Bouncing  your  hands  from  in  front  of  you,  to  behind,  to  in  front  and  back  behind,  over  and  over,  snapping  your  fingers.  You  shrugged,  “Around  two  I’ll  need  to  head  out  of  here.  Why?  Got  a  hot  date?  I  probably  should  let  it  be  known…that’s  a  deal  breaker  for  me.  I’ll  need  to  be  your  only  Sugarbaby  this  month.”</p>
<p>Oh  it  was  so  cute  you  thought  you  were  a  comedian.  So  cute.  Adorable.</p>
<p>“Why  don’t  you  make  yourself  comfortable?”</p>
<p>For  fucks  sake.</p>
<p>What  did  you  have  to  do  to  get  this  man’s  pants  off  and  ride  on  that  monster  hidden  beneath  all  that  tan  fabric?  It  had  been  <em>forever</em>  and  Steve  had  been  right,  Armando…as  you  had  named  your  vibrator…wasn’t  doing  the  trick  anymore.  This  man  was  driving  you  crazy.  Up  the  wall,  clawing  the  wallpaper  up  in  strips,  out  of  your  mind  crazy. </p>
<p>No,  no  you  would  not  go  make  yourself  comfortable  because  you  hadn’t  been  comfortable  in  days.  Days!  Not  since  this  motherfucker  ran  off  for  parts  unknown,  DC  anyway,  and  left  you  alone  with  thoughts  and  memories  and  the  mental  image  of  his  nudity  seared  into  your  head.</p>
<p>Instead  of  making  yourself  comfortable,  you  turned  to  find  him  right  behind  you  and  with  a  little  inching  forward,  yeah,  that  was  pretty  spectacular.  Pressed  up  against  all  of  that  super  soldier  you  heard  so  much  about.</p>
<p>“Why  don’t  you  make  me  comfortable?  Sir?”</p>
<p>You  were  close  enough  to  see  his  neck  tighten,  his  body  have  some  sort  of  a  physiological  reaction  as  if  a  wave  ran  through  his  musculature.  Steve  wet  his  lips.  Eyes  never  once  leaving  yours,  not  even  for  a  second.  “I’m  trying  very  hard  to  be  decent.”</p>
<p>Well  wasn’t  that  cute?  He  was  trying  hard  to  be  decent  and  you  had  come  over  here  hoping  with  everything  in  you  that  he  would  be  here,  so  the  two  of  you  could  play  with  one  another’s  genitals.  </p>
<p>Fingers  laced  securely  behind  your  back,  you  cocked  your  head  to  the  side,  swirled  your  hips.  “What  do  you  want  to  do?”</p>
<p>What  did  he  want  to  do  to  you?</p>
<p>The  things  he  wanted  to  do  to  you.</p>
<p>And  why  the  hell  not?</p>
<p>After  your  last  visit,  there  was  no  doubt  in  his  mind  that  you  would  be  anything  less  than  vocal  if  he  became  too  much.  Too  overbearing.  Too  demanding.  Too  intimidating.  Too  much.  </p>
<p>Without  asking  with  words,  Steve  found  his  hand  pushing  down  into  the  front  your  pants,  never  looking  away  from  you.  Down  along  the  elastic  band  of  your  panties.  Cotton  by  the  feel,  deeper,  further,  till  soft  pubic  hair  touched  his  palm.  God  did  that  please  him.  Making  Steve  push  you  back  into  the  wall  so  he  could  appropriately  crowd  you,  hover  over  you,  look  down  at  you  without  breaking  that  contact.</p>
<p>“Good  girl.  Keep  my  pussy  like  this,  I  don’t  like  completely  shaved.”</p>
<p>If  you  had  any  objections  other  than  a  twitching  of  your  eyebrows,  a  wetting  of  your  lips,  you  kept  it  to  yourself  and  down  his  hand  went  further  to  explore  actual  parts  unknown.  Never  leaning  back  or  away  to  allow  you  space.</p>
<p>Nothing  but  the  most  exquisite  softness  greeted  him.  Soft  smooth  flesh  that  at  times  past  he  never  thought  he’d  ever  really  and  truly  feel,  not  as  himself  and  not  when  he  never  expected  to  survive  his  final  battle  with  Thanos.  That  he  was  here  with  you.  It  was  surreal.  Or  that  he  could  be  his  true  self  was  something  else  entirely.</p>
<p>Finding  you  wet,  Steve  pushed  his  hand  in  deeper,  slipped  his  middle  finger  up  into  you,  penetrating  you,  curling  his  finger  deep  until  you  arched  back  against  the  wall,  hands  fisting,  deep  breaths  pulling  in  and  out  of  your  nose.</p>
<p>It  was  Steve  who  finally  broke  contact  in  order  to  look  down,  withdraw  his  hand  and  quickly  set  to  work  unbuttoning  and  unzipping  your  pants.  Confident  motions  had  your  pants  loosening  and  sliding  down  your  hips  before  you  knew  it  and  you  were  more  than  ready,  you  were  ready  for  the  party  that  was  sure  to  follow.  You  were  not  at  all  ready  for  Steve  Rogers  himself  to  drop  down  between  your  legs.  So  much  so,  words  filled  with  confusion  sprang  forth  from  your  lips.</p>
<p>“What  are  you  doing?”</p>
<p>Dark  blonde  eyebrows  rose  questioningly.</p>
<p>Confusion  turning  into  something  closer  to  bewilderment.</p>
<p>“You  don’t  have  to  do  that…”</p>
<p>Asking  why  was  not  going  to  happen,  not  then,  Steve  had  absolutely  no  desire  to  ask  who  and  bring  someone  else  into  this  moment  between  the  two  of  you.  He  really  didn’t  care  either.  It  would  be  discussed  later.  Later  when  he  wasn’t  on  his  knees  at  your  feet.  “Did  I  ask?”</p>
<p>No  words  came  from  you,  not  silence,  merely  nothing  verbally  spoken.  </p>
<p>“Have  you  considered  that  perhaps  I  want  to  eat  this  pussy?  Fuck  it  with  my  fingers?  See  how  far  I  can  shove  my  tongue  inside  you?”</p>
<p>More  words  didn’t  come  from  you.  Not  even  if  you  wanted  them  to  because  you  were  now  incapable  of  speech.  When  the  hell  did  Steve  Rogers  get  a  mouth  like  that  on  him?  A  raging  fire  travelled  up  your  neck  that  you  couldn’t  begin  to  even  control.</p>
<p>“Put  your  leg  up  on  my  shoulder and  stop  saying  ridiculous  things.”</p>
<p>Bless  you,  you  listened  without  hesitation.  Allowing  him  access  that  he  wanted,  giving  up  that  precious  part  of  you  for  which  you  would  be  rewarded.  Each  noise  that  fell  from  your  lips  was  real,  unscripted,  making  him  ache  and  seek  you  out  more.  Steve  pushed  his  face  into  you.  Flattened  his  tongue  to  lick  you  one  end  to  the  other.  Hummed,  suckled  your  clit  between  his  lips,  rolled  it  between  his  tongue,  drew  down  on  it.  Pushed  two  fingers  up  in  your  tight  wet  opening.  Tight  enough  for  him  to  know  you  hadn’t  been  with  a  man  anytime  recently.  Not  with  how  your  warmth  clenched  around  him.  Soon  he’d  have  you  on  his  dick  which  was  an  intoxicating  thought.  Not  before  he  made  you  come  a  couple  times,  stretched  you  out  on  his  fingers  a  bit,  loosened  you  up,  got  you  even  wetter.  Hurting  you  was  not  something  he  wanted  to  do.  Tearing  something  because  he  was  too  eager  was  a  possibility  with  your  wonderful  pussy.  Unlike  whoever  had  come  before  him,  he’d  make  sure  you  were  ready  and  enjoyed  every  second  of  it.</p>
<p>“God  that  mouth…”</p>
<p>How  you  said  the  sweetest  damn  things  to  him.</p>
<p>He  watched  you.</p>
<p>Eyes  closed.  Fingers  dug  in  your  hair.  Mouth  gaping.  Whether  you  were  referring  to  what  he  had  said,  or  his  current  good  works  was  something  of  a  mystery.  </p>
<p>You  were  already  close.  So  so  close.  Panting.  Gasping.  Making  breathy  little  noises  with  each  thrust  and  scissor  motion  he  made  within  your  core,  gushy  noises  following  as  your  own  arousal  seeped  out  around  his  hand.  Sucking  so  soundly  on  your  bundle  of  nerves.  Fucking  you  with  his  fingers  was  something  he  would  definitely  revisit  in  the  future.  </p>
<p>In  the  future,  he  intended  to  claim  your  body  from  head  to  toe  with  every  part  of  his  body,  until  you  were  entirely  his  in  every  way  imaginable.  Until  the  day  came,  when  you  didn’t  think  of  whoever  it  was  that  didn’t  want  to  worship  you  as  you  deserved,  ever  again.</p>
<p>Around  his  fingers  you  reached  your  climax,  spread  open  on  them  and  under  attack  from  Steve’s  far  too  skilled  tongue.  For  a  second  you  cried  out.  Till  you  slapped  your  hands  over  your  mouth  and  groaned  against  your  palms  like  a  wounded  beast,  eyes  clenched  in  your  release.  One  that  he  could  feel  was  surprisingly  powerful  on  his  fingers.  Steve  would  let  your  trying  to  quiet  yourself  slide.  For  now.  </p>
<p>As  it  was,  he  could  feel  your  body  shake  against  him.  On  his  fingers,  vaginal  muscles  contracted  viciously  around  him,  in  a  manner  that  told  him  you  hadn’t  been  appropriately  fucked  in  some  time,  if  at  all.</p>
<p>Finding  himself  very  pleased  with  the  length  of  your  orgasm,  Steve  pulled  his  fingers  out  as  he  began  to  feel  it  die  down,  soften.  As  your  heavy  shrill  pants  softened.  Although  your  hands  remained  over  your  mouth.  Eyelids  heavy  from  the  rush  that  followed  your  orgasm.</p>
<p>Not  that  he  was  done.</p>
<p>No.</p>
<p>Not  when  your  pussy  was  becoming  more  engorged,  more  swollen,  darker  with  the  flush  of  blood  and  wetter  from  your  pleasure.</p>
<p>Remembering  exactly  how  scandalized  you  looked  when  the  mention  of  his  tongue  was  brought  up,  he  leaned  down,  pushed  your  puffy  lips  apart  and  pushed  into  your  gently  contracting  slit.  Not  quite  done  winding  down  from  those  pleasurable  sensations.</p>
<p>A  shocked  noise  he  expected  came  from  you.</p>
<p>As  deep  as  he  could,  Steve  freaking  Rogers  shoved  his  tongue  up  inside  of  you  and  you  nearly  died.  Pinned  to  the  wall,  spread  open  entirely  for  wanton  pleasure  on  both  your  parts,  you  cried  out  behind  your  sweaty  palms.  Jesus  Christ  not  a  soul  on  earth  had  ever  done  that  to  you  and  you  had  no  idea  how  to  respond.</p>
<p>Sounds  of  wetness  filled  the  air,  adding  to  your  mortification  that  you  were  getting  even  more  turned  on  by  this  and  any  soft  happy  feelings  of  a  post-coital  comedown  died.  Dead.  Gone.  About  when  your  own  personal  Super  Soldier  began  to  strum  your  achingly  tender  clit  while  shoving  his  tongue  along  the  inside  of  your  vag.</p>
<p>Dear  Fuck,  this  was  not  how  you  expected  your  day  to  go.</p>
<p>And  his  beard  too.</p>
<p>It  tickled,  it  bristled  against  you.  It  was  unlike  anything  you’d  ever  felt  on  your  secret  garden  and  god  if  it  wasn’t  working  for  you.</p>
<p>“Dear  god  Steve…Sir…Sir…Sir  I’m  going  to  come  again,  <em>Sir</em>  you’re  going  to make  me  come  again.  Sir!”</p>
<p>And  perhaps,  maybe,  you  were  getting  a  little  panicky.</p>
<p>Coming  on  the  face  of  your  Sugardaddy,  who’s  happy  place  you  were  positive  you  should  have  been  sucking  on,  was  not  how  you’d  expected  this  to  go.  Not  at  all.  Clearly  there  was  some  confusion.  Some  type  of  a  mix  up.  Something  was  lost  somewhere  and  oh  no,  no,  it  couldn’t  be  happening  again,  not  so  close  to  the  first  one.</p>
<p>A  coiling  down  low.  A  tightening.  Painful  this  time.  So  close  to  your  previous  orgasm  that  you  were  still  sensitive,  you  weren’t  completely  recovered.  </p>
<p>“Sir  I’m  serious.  I’m  going  to  come  again  and  I  think…”  oh  you  were  so  so  so  close.  So  goddamn  close.  Your  toes  were  curling.  Your  knees  were  buckling.  Spots  were  beginning  to  appear  in  your  eyes  again  and  dear  mother  of  Bon  Jovi,  was  he  licking  the  inside  of  your  vaginal  wall?  Because  that  was  what  it  felt  like,  although  no  one  had  ever  done  that  to  you  before  and  you  beginning  to  wonder  why.  “Shit.  Shit,  shit  shit,  Steve  I  think,  I  think,  oh  I  really  think  I’m  supposed  to  be  licking  your  fun  place.”</p>
<p>By  some  small  miracle  you  were  able  to  get  that  out  before  shrieking  out  behind  your  palms,  melting  down,  shaking  so  hard  that  Steve  had  to  hold  you  up  as  your  second  climax  took  you  over.  Obliterated  you.  Consumed  you.  Made  you  see  bright  new  colors  and  not  care  one  bit  that  you  humped  Steve’s  face  like  a  teenager  would  hump  a  pillow.</p>
<p>“Don’t  worry  beautiful.  I’ll  let  you  know  when  I  want  my  dick  in  your  mouth.”</p>
<p>Such  language.</p>
<p>Such  a  mouth!</p>
<p>Panting  and  gasping  and  trying  so  hard  to  come  down  before  he  did  anything  else,  there  was  absolutely  no  way  you  were  able  to  come  back  with  much  of  anything  and  like  the  epitome  of  virtue  he  was,  Steve  didn’t  seem  greatly  upset  when  you  had  no  response.</p>
<p>In  fact,  in  a  downright  gentlemanly  sort  of  way,  he  rose  up  to  his  feet  to  kiss  you  soundly  on  your  mouth.  Giving  you  what  had  to  be  the  world’s  sloppiest  kiss.  Between  your  brain  having  gone  out  the  top  of  your  head,  plus  his  mouth  and  beard  and  nose  and  chin  covered  with  your  slippery  juices,  it  would  be  one  that  you  remembered  for  the  ages  and  not  just  because  you  could  taste  yourself  on  Steve’s  tongue  and  knew  where  it  had  literally  just  been.</p>
<p>A  hint  of  an  accent  shone  through,  something  local,  gruff,  very  raw.  “Wanna  go  into  my  bedroom?  Take  me?  I’ll  make  you  feel  real  good.”</p>
<p>He  was  asking?</p>
<p>He  was  actually  asking?</p>
<p>If  he  planned  to  make  you  feel  good,  what  in  the  hell  did  he  consider  what  he’d  just  done  to  you?  Mediocre?</p>
<p>Most  enthusiastically  you  nodded,  swallowing,  tasting  yourself  on  his  face  for  the  first  time,  feeling  your  own  arousal  smeared  on  your  chin,  the  tip  of  your  nose.  “Yes.  Sir.  Please.”</p>
<p>And  clothes  were  coming  off.  He  was  shedding  clothes  as  you  did  your  best  to  remember  how  to  breathe  while  holding  up  his  wall.</p>
<p>“Since  it’s  our  first  time,  I’ll  limit  it  to  two  or  three  times.  The  serum…you  know?”</p>
<p>Oh  sure.</p>
<p>Yeah  you  knew.</p>
<p>Noises  of  absolute  understand  came  from  you,  assurances  too.</p>
<p>Now  you  had  no  fucking  idea  what  he  meant.  But  you  assumed  it  was  something  along  the  lines  of,  he  planned  to  fuck  you  through  the  mattress  and  if  his  intercourse  was  as  strong  as  his  oral,  you  were  very  much  ready,  willing  and  able.</p>
<p>“In  regards  to  our  discussion  on  our  first  date,  I  spoke  to  a  couple  professionals  and  your  birth  control  should  have  no  issue  being  effective.  I  am  also  clean  as  you  know.  So  I  wanted  to  double  check  that  you’re  still  comfortable  with  me  not  using  condoms?”</p>
<p>This?</p>
<p>He  was  bringing  this  up?</p>
<p>His  dick  looked  like  it  could  qualify  as  a  lethal  weapon,  heavy  between  his  muscular  thighs  and  he  was  bringing  up  condoms?  Was  he  actually  leaking?  He  was,  you  couldn’t  help  but  look  away  as  you  realized  that  Steve  Rogers  was  dripping  what  you  assumed  to  be  pre-ejaculate  from  his  monster  erection.  </p>
<p>Needless  to  say,  you  gave  him  a  thumbs  up  in  response.  </p>
<p>What  more  was  there  that  needed  to  be  said?</p>
<p>“As  honored  as  I  am  that  I’ve  earned  such  praise,”  he  murmured,  popping  buttons  on  the  front  of  your  white  shirt  with  ease.  “Is  that  a  yes?  A  no?  Don’t  worry,  I  have  every  intention  of  filling  you  full  till  it  drips  out.  I  want  to  be  sure  that  you’re  ok  with  it.  Otherwise  I’ll  cover  up.”</p>
<p>“No!”</p>
<p>Ah,  there  you  went,  you  could  make  words  again.  Your  brain  wasn’t  completely  enjoying  its  out  of  body  experience.  </p>
<p>“No  Sir,”  you  confirmed,  eyeing  it,  picturing  Steve  making  a  filthy  mess  of  your  lovely  lady  part.  “Unless  you  wanted  to  come  on  me?  I’d  be  cool  with  that  too.”</p>
<p>It  could  not  have  been  possible  for  Steve  to  look  any  more  pleased.  “Want  Daddy  to  come  on  you?  Cover  you  up?  Rub  Daddy’s  cum  all  over  your  beautiful  body  before  sending  you  home?  Wear  me  around  all  day  under  your  clothes?  You  want  that?”</p>
<p>Absolutely  did  you  want  that  too.</p>
<p>Hungrier  than  you  had  ever  been  for  sex  even  once  before  in  your  life,  you  were  frantically  nodding  and  gave  up  no  resistance  when  Steve  began  to  move,  walk  you  back,  have  you  back  stepping  and  side  walking  around  furniture,  past  perfectly  flat  surfaces  that  could  have  worked  great  for  intercourse.</p>
<p>Each  one  that  you  passed  you’d  pause  at,  pointedly  glance  at,  only  to  be  ushered  further  back  towards  what  you  assumed  was  his  bedroom.</p>
<p>As  if  the  two  of  you  had  all  the  time  in  the  world  and  he  wasn’t  looking  at  you  like  he  wanted  to  do  unspeakable  things  to  you.</p>
<p>“Call  me  old  fashioned.  But  I  want  the  only  person  I  take  in  my  new  bed  to  be  you.  Now  turn  around  and  stand  at  the  foot  of  my  bed.  Bend  over.  Palms  on  my  sheets,  knees  touching  the  bed.  Kick  off  your  pants  too.”</p>
<p>Not  even  realizing  that  he’d  herded  you  all  the  way  into  his  bedroom,  you  blinked  in  surprise.</p>
<p>It  was  not  a  big  bed.</p>
<p>It  was  not  where  you  would  picture  someone  who  had  fought  the  mad  titan  and  helped  save  the  entire  universe  to  sleep.  Not  that  you  stood  there  giving  it  an  incredible  amount  of  thought  though.  Hurriedly,  you  kicked  off  your  slacks  and  shoes,  you  moved  how  and  where  Steve  wanted  you  to,  peeking  around,  seeing  no  real  signs  that  anyone  lived  in  here  either.  </p>
<p>It  really  could  have  been  a  showroom  apartment.</p>
<p>Even  his  sheets  on  what  you  suspected  was  a  double  bed  were  a  basic  model.  You yourself  had  sprung  for  the  t-shirt  sheets  at  Target.</p>
<p>“Spread  your  legs.”</p>
<p>Spread  them  you  did,  watching  him  take  what  looked  like  a  bottle  of  lube  from  the  top  drawer  of  his  nightstand.  Spreading  them  allowed  you  to  feel  how  wet  you  were  and  well,  it  was  surprising,  shocking,  a  little  embarrassing.  Up  until  you  watched  his  dick  bounce  off  his  thighs  with  sound  slaps  as  he  walked.  Till  you  watched  Steve  thoroughly  wet  his  member  with  a  significant  amount  of  lube  and  you  remembered  that  had  to  go  inside  of  you.</p>
<p>“Don’t  you  worry.  Sweetheart,  I’m  going  to  take  such  good  care  of  you.  Just  you  wait  and  see.”</p>
<p>And  it  wasn’t  that  you  didn’t  believe  him.</p>
<p>You  did.</p>
<p>If  anyone  could  make  sex  with  that  thing  swinging  free  good,  it  was  Steve.  Steve  who  had  just  given  you  two  of  your  most  intense  orgasms  with  his  tongue  and  fingers.  Still  though,  it  was  a  lot  to  take  in.</p>
<p>“Bend  over.”</p>
<p>Bend  over  you  did,  although  a  little  squeak  came  from  you  when  a  slimy  hand  pressed  midway  down  your  back,  pushing  you  further  down.  Another  squirt  came.  Like  a  drum  your  heart  began  to  pound  and  you  just  barely  registered  that  Steve  was  rubbing  lube  around  your  hole,  pushing  lubed  fingers  into  your  pussy.  All  while  that  hand  walked  fingertips  up  along  your  spine.</p>
<p>A  shaky  breath  came  out  of  you.</p>
<p>You  couldn’t  believe  it.  In  the  second  that  you  felt  the  blunt  head  of  Steve’s  uncovered  penis  rub  through  your  never-been-wetter  vaginal  lips,  like  ever,  never  in  your  life  between  your  own  natural  lubrication  and  the  bottle  of  KY,  you  had  a  thought  that  you  were  about  to  have  sex  with  the  former  Captain  America.  </p>
<p>Two  things  happened  though  that  stole  your  thoughts  away.</p>
<p>The  head  of  that  penis  pushed  its  way  into  you,  spearing  you  open  like  you  had  never  been  before,  you  might  as  well  have  never  had  sex  before  because  your  body  was  being  stretched  open  in  way’s  you’d  never  known.  Along  with  two  big  strong  calloused  hands  landing  on  your  elbows.</p>
<p>Using  your  elbows,  Steve  pulled  you  back  onto  him  and  pushed  further  into  you.</p>
<p>A  cry  did  come  from  you.  A  loud  one  that  neighbors  were  sure  to  hear  if  any  were  home.  </p>
<p>It  was  almost  painful.  Steve  was  deep  and  big  and  fully  inside  of  you,  opening  you  up,  holding  onto  you  tightly,  spine  arched  and  bent  over  at  your  hips.</p>
<p>“Tight  as  a  damn  virgin.  I  can  tell  already  I’m  not  going  to  last  long  this  first-time  princess.  How’s  that  make  you  feel?  Knowing  you’re  gonna  make  me  come  so  fast  our  first  time?”</p>
<p>Steve  didn’t  let  you  answer  though.</p>
<p>As  soon  as  those  words  fell  out  of  his  mouth,  he  was  moving.  Withdrawing  about  halfway  and  pushing  back  in.  Slowly,  methodically,  setting  a  steady  pace  to  get  you  used  to  his  size  because  he  was  going  to  be  inside  of  you  as  much  as  he  could,  he  wanted  to  warm  you  up,  get  you  used  to  his  size  and  appetite  and  needs.  Plus,  he  really  wasn’t  going  to  last  long.  You  were  so  goddamn  tight.  </p>
<p>Each  time  he  withdrew  and  pushed  in,  he  watched,  closely  observed  his  thick  member  get  swallowed  up.  Focused  on  when  he  withdrew,  he  could  see  how  your  walls  clung  to  him  as  if  not  wanting  him  to  leave.  Being  that  was  exactly  how  it  felt.</p>
<p>Those  little  pitched  gaspy  grunts  you  made  every  time  he  bottomed  out  in  you  went  to  his  balls,  that  were  getting  tighter  by  the  second.</p>
<p>In  and  out,  getting  squeezed  so  beautifully  by  your  walls.  Wet  and  soft  and  hot.  With  each  slap  of  his  pelvis  meeting  you,  your  ass  cheeks  bounced.</p>
<p>“Feel  so  good  on  my  cock.  I’m  gonna  fuck  you  all  morning  on  this  bed.  Gonna  fuck  you  on  it  and  over  it  and  in  it.  Gonna  fuck  you  till  you  scream.  Till  you’re  hoarse.  Till  this  pussy  leaks  my  cum  for  hours.  You  want  that?  You  want  my  cum?  You  want  to  come  on  my  cock?”</p>
<p>Pace  never  faltering,  a  slow  steady  run,  in  and  out,  balls  slapping  against  you  wetly.  Sounds  of  carnality  squishing  in  the  room.  Your  noises  were  purely  reactions  to  each  thrust  into  you.</p>
<p>Knowing  he  would  leave  marks,  Steve  squeezed  your  elbows  tighter,  pulled  you  back  on  his  dick  harder.  Hitting  you  even  deeper.  Getting  closer  with  every  passing  second  to  when  he  would  finally  come  deep  inside  of  you.</p>
<p>“If  you  want  me  to  empty  my  balls  in  you,  you  better  answer.”</p>
<p>Merely  the  threat  of  coming  elsewhere  had  you  cry  out.  “Sir…oh,  oh  please.  Sir  please.  In  me  please.  Want  it.  Want  you.”</p>
<p>Steve  was  already  coming  when  you  began  to  say  those  words,  cry  them  out  in  a  panic.  His  body  was  already  releasing  into  you  for  the  first  time  and  was  it  bliss.  It  had  him  thrusting  deeper  and  harder,  pushing  himself  into  you  further,  pulling  you  tighter  back  against  him.</p>
<p>“Of  course  you  do.  You’re  a  good  girl.  My  best  girl.  Taking  my  cum  inside  you.”</p>
<p>Each  release  deep  within  you  came  from  his  very  soul.  Each  time  he  ground  into  the  back  of  you,  a  surge  of  heat  was  expelled  from  his  body,  again  and  again,  till  Steve  saw  it  begin  to  slowly  ooze  out  around  where  his  cock  was  buried  deep  in  your  core.  Pearly  semen  oozed  out  and  he  was  still  hard.  <em>Hard.</em>  Was  going  to  be  that  way  for  a  while.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>						***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It  was  almost  noon  and  Steve  was  pounding  away  at  you  again  and  you  didn’t  know  if  you  wanted  to  scream,  or  holler,  or  let  your  eyes  roll  up  into  your  head  and  moan  out  incoherently  because  you  were  somewhere  between  all  three.</p>
<p>Hands  clinging  to  the  headboard  since  the  last  time  Steve  had  made  you  come  screaming.</p>
<p>Yes.</p>
<p>Screaming.</p>
<p>You’d  never  screamed  out  an  orgasm  during  penetrative  sex  ever,  in  your  entire  life  and  you  had  no  idea  how  he  did  it.  You’d  never  been  this  filthy  from  sex  either.  Sweaty.  Covered  with  a  mix  of  bodily  fluids  from  both  your  sex  organs  smeared  on  your  thighs  and  ass  and  all  over  the  bed,  sheets  stuck  to  your  legs.</p>
<p>And  like  a  man  possessed,  he  held  you  tightly  from  behind  and  powered  up  into  you  like  a  machine.  </p>
<p>Again  and  again  and  again  and  again.</p>
<p>Over  and  over  and  over.</p>
<p>Slamming  into  that  usually  sensitive  wall  of  spongy  flesh  within  your  core  that  if  done  right,  you  could  bring  yourself  to  climax  with  your  own  g-spot  toy,  but  hell  he  was  hitting  it  every  single  time.  </p>
<p>Every.  Single.  Time.</p>
<p>Making  you  chant  his  name  like  a  benediction,  like  a  curse,  like  it  was  the  only  thing  keeping  you  together.</p>
<p>Beneath  you,  he  let  out  a  hiss,  held  you  tightly  to  his  front  with  a  thickly  corded  arm  hooked  over  your  breasts,  slamming  up  into  your  cunt.  “Coming…coming  again…fill  you  full.  Gi…give  it  all  to  you…all  to  you…feel  it…”  Never  slowing.  Never  stopping.  Ramming  up  into  you  as  he  came  again.  Wet  flesh  slapping  together.  Slipping  off  one  another.  </p>
<p>“Steve,”  you  shrieked,  either  close,  or  maybe  you  could  have  been  coming  down,  you  couldn’t  quite  tell  any  more.  Your  body  felt  like  one  big  raw  nerve.  Palms  clung  to  his  headboard  to  try  and  anchor  yourself  in  the  sea  of  pleasure.  </p>
<p>His  grip  on  your  thigh  was  bruising.  By  that  afternoon  you’d  have  his  fingerprints  bruised  in  your  thigh.  In  proof  that  he  held  you  open  and  fucked  you  in  a  marathon  of  sex  and  orgasms  and  various  positions,  mouths  and  hands  and  flesh,  sweat  and  saliva.</p>
<p>“Steve…Steve…Steve…please,  oh  please,  Steve,  oh…oh…”</p>
<p>Now  you  knew,  you  weren’t  coming  down,  you  were  coming,  again  and  it  snuck  up  on  you.  A  wail  came  from  you  at  your  way  too  overly  sensitized  body.  You  swore  and  cried  out  and  fractured  over  the  top  of  him,  spasming  and  shaking  violently  in  your  release.  Both  your  hands  losing  their  grip,  slipping  free.  Not  knowing  or  caring,  you  simply  threw  your  head  back  against  his  shoulder  as  a  pained  climax  shook  you  down  to  your  bones.  By  then  you  had  lost  count.  By  then  you  were  very  much  boneless,  spent,  unable  to  even  roll  off  him.  Making  you  hook  an  arm  over  the  bicep  around  your  breasts.</p>
<p>“No  more  Steve,  no  more  right  now.  I  can’t  do  any  more.  I’m  not  going  to  be  able  to  walk  right…I  can’t  go  again…”</p>
<p>Something  about  the  way  you  said  it,  way  you  panted  it,  clung  to  the  arm  banded  over  you,  it  left  him  feeling  like  something  was  right,  finally  and  to  be  honest,  Steve  would  have  called  it  quits  too.  </p>
<p>Could  he  go  again?</p>
<p>Yeah.  He  easily  could  have  a  couple  more  times.</p>
<p>Considering  he’d  spent  the  last  few  hours  releasing  himself  all  over  you,  inside  of  you,  on  his  bed,  it  was  enough  for  now.  Allowing  him  this  moment  to  press  his  lips  against  the  damp  side  of  your  face.  Buried  all  up  inside  of  you.  Plugging  you  full  for  now.  “Mmm…good  girl,  such  a  good  girl.  Did  so  good.  Feel  so  good.”  One  of  your  legs  plopped  down  against  his  as  you  relaxed  on  top  of  him.  Another  kiss  was  pressed  to  your  cheek,  then  another.</p>
<p>Spread  out  over  the  top  of  him,  your  weight  hardly  registered.</p>
<p>What  did  was  the  feel  of  you  on  him.  What  did  was  feeling  your  lungs  pounding  through  your  back  against  his  chest,  sweat  warm  and  wet  between  the  two  of  you.  Even  your  other  leg  slipped  as  it  curled  down  in  your  body’s  unwinding.</p>
<p>“I  don’t  mean  to  make  things  difficult…but  we  have  to  renegotiate  that  no  sleepover  rule.  It’s  not  gonna  work  out.”</p>
<p>A  soft  shaking  came  from  you.  Were  you  laughing?</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>Without  a  doubt  it  wasn’t  going  to  work.  Forget  more  sex.  Steve  knew  that  wouldn’t  be  happening  again  that  day  and  that  was  more  than  fine.  He  was  satisfied  for  now.  But  that  didn’t  mean  he  was  happy  the  rest  of  his  time  spent  with  you  would  be  measured  in  hours,  not  into  the  evening  or  more.  Next  time  he  was  intimate  with  you,  he  wanted  more  time.  So  much  more  time.</p>
<p>Yes,  that  was  gentle  laughter.  You  sounded  somewhat  amused  when  you  answered  him.  “No  one’s  exactly  asked  that  before  is  all.”</p>
<p>Parts  of  Steve  were  equally  disgusted  while  being  not  at  all  surprised.  Part  of  him  had  expected  that  kind  of  thing  from  you,  certainly  after  how  you  reacted  to  him  wanting  to  go  down  on  you.  His  other  part  fumed  at  the  audacity  of  it,  it  simply  was  not  right.  It  was  not  how  a  man  treated  a  woman  and  when  you  slipped  sideways,  wiggling  around  in  an  attempt  to  get  comfortable,  Steve  found  himself  letting  you  because  you  were  opening  up  to  him  and  he  wasn’t  not,  at  all,  not  even  a  little  bit  upset  at  missing  the  sight  of  his  spend  drip  from  you.  Not  even  when  you  made  a  face  of  extreme  discomfort  and  grabbed  his  bed  sheet,  pressing  it  between  your  thighs  to  soak  up  all  his  hard  work  that  had  very  obviously  begun  to  spill  out.</p>
<p>“I  guess  that’s  kinda  obvious  since  I  was  on  that  website  and  all.”  You  muttered  in  your  fidgeting  and  shifting  around  to  try  and  get  comfortable.</p>
<p>Feeling  very  much  like  he  had  the  keys  to  the  candy  store,  Steve  carefully  pressed,  only  barely  getting  the  words  out.  “Your  previous  romantic  partner?”</p>
<p>An  unimpressed  expression  clouded  over  your  face.  You  even  snorted.  Finally  seeming  to  get  comfortable  beside  him,  grabbing  the  single  pillow  he  had  in  his  bed  for  yourself.  “Let’s  not  give  him  too  much  credit.  The  Ex  will  suffice.  Before  you  even  ask,  he  was  the  one  who  refused  to  go  downstairs.  Wasn’t  really  his  thing.  A  lot  of  stuff  wasn’t  really  his  thing.”</p>
<p>Danger.</p>
<p>Having  worked  in  an  office  of  women  before  joining  the  Army,  being  so  close  to  his  mother  and  then  Natasha.  Steve  knew  what  a  red  flag  was  and  when  to  precede  with  caution.  “What  led  to  your  parting  ways  with  him?”</p>
<p>Another  expression  came  from  you  that  almost  made  him  laugh.</p>
<p>You  could  make  him  feel  things  that  he  thought  were  long  gone  and  lost.  Humor  at  such  times  as  these  was  one.</p>
<p>“He  had  a  hard  time  understanding  the  complexities  of  monogamy  and  gave  me  a  STI.  Then  he  lied  about  it,  accused  me  of  cheating,  had  me  convinced  I  must  have  given  it  to  him,  because  he  was  such  a  psycho,  until  his  other  girlfriend  called  to  tell  him  that  he  gave  it  to  her  too.”  Which  was  then  followed  by,  “Don’t  worry  though.  It  was  totally  cured  with  antibiotics  so  I’m  in  the  clear  now.”</p>
<p>Mystery  solved.</p>
<p>Everything  was  making  sense.</p>
<p>Your  hesitation  about  staying  over  and  not  being  exactly  open  or  forthcoming  with  information  about  yourself.  Hell,  when  you  said  you  weren’t  looking  for  anything  more  than  transactional.  Your  trust  had  been  shattered.  You’d  been  lied  to,  cheated  on,  violated  and  then  had  to  learn  the  truth  from  someone  in  the  same  boat  as  you.  If  that  had  happened  to  him,  Steve  wasn’t  sure  he’d  be  looking  for  love  either.</p>
<p>“I  wasn’t  worried.”  Came  out  of  him  before  anything  else,  making  you  turn  your  attention  from  his  ceiling  to  his  face.  He  even  then  propped  himself  up  on  his  elbows  to  get  a  good  look  down  at  you  on  his  pillow.  His  pillow.  In  his  bed.  Wrapped  up  in  his  sheets.  “And  I’d  never  do  that  to  you.”</p>
<p>Nothing  came  from  you  in  response.  Further  driving  home  how  much  work  had  to  be  done.  Work  that  could  be  thought  up  later.  First  though,  you  were  talking  about  yourself.  He  wasn’t  about  to  waste  that  opportunity.  </p>
<p>“How  long  have  you  been  unattached?”</p>
<p>Another  expression,  one  that  was  almost  a  laugh  at  his  choice  of  terminology  he  suspected  and  didn’t  really  care.  It  was  a  real  reaction.  It  wasn’t  fake  or  rehearsed.</p>
<p>“I  don’t  know…it  wasn’t  long  before  the  Blip.  Haven’t  seen  him  since.  Things  got  a  little  complicated  during  those  five  years  and  I’m  only  now  coming  down  off  that  to  some  new  degree  of  normal.”</p>
<p>Yeah,  he  knew  all  about  that.</p>
<p>“What  sort  of  things  got  complicated?”</p>
<p>Yet  another  look,  one  that  involved  both  your  eyebrows  and  mouth  and  reeked  of  amusement.  “Private  things.”</p>
<p>“Waitress  things?”</p>
<p>In  that  moment  Steve  thought  he’d  blown  it.  He  thought  he  may  have  pressed  too  far.  You  shifted  around  and  rolled  your  eyes,  sighed,  blew  out  a  breath  and  he  thought  you  were  going  to  change  the  subject.  </p>
<p>To  his  surprise,  you  didn’t.</p>
<p>“Most  of  my  college  turned  to  dust  and  I  dropped  out.  Had  to  support  myself  somehow.  I  have  people  that  rely  on  me.  Hence  the  waitressing  and  website.”</p>
<p>In  that  second,  you  realized  you  maybe  said  too  much.</p>
<p>Maybe  you  had  been  a  bit  too  open.</p>
<p>Going  on  instinct  alone,  you  ran  your  fingertip  along  the  soft  skin  on  the  inside  of  Steve’s  wrist,  pointedly  inquiring.  “What’s  that?  I  thought  you  have  super  healing  and  didn’t  scar.”</p>
<p>Over  the  past  few  hours  you’d  noticed  the  faint  line  going  across  the  inside  of  his  wrist,  where  muscle  lie  beneath.</p>
<p>Thankfully  he  took  the  cue  from  you.</p>
<p>Not  only  did  he  drop  it,  Steve  lifted  up  his  wrist  to  take  a  gander  at  what  was  indeed  a  light  scar.  </p>
<p>“It’s  not  super  healing.  Let’s  call  it  accelerated  and  scarring  is  part  of  healing.”  Turning  his  arm  so  you  could  see  the  mark  on  what  looked  like  perfect  skin.  You  reached  up  to  touch  him  there.  “Eventually  it’ll  fade  away.”</p>
<p>“Was  it  from  you  know  who?”</p>
<p>Finally  it  was  your  turn  to  earn  a  expression  from  him.  “Thanos?”</p>
<p>Yeah,  him.</p>
<p>Settling  back  down,  you  made  an  attempt  at  diplomatic.  Hoping  it  worked.  “I  didn’t  know  if  that  was  an  ok  name  to  say  around  you  or  not.”</p>
<p>Did  it  hurt  thinking  about  Thanos?  Incredibly  so.  Did  it  fill  him  full  of  anger  and  rage  and  fury?  Absolutely  yes.  However,  like  he’d  told  you,  that  was  part  of  healing…growth.  Scarring.  Leaning  down  to  steal  another  kiss  from  you,  he  promised.  “There  is  nothing  that  you  can’t  say  around  me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>					***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steve  swore  he  heard  you  before  he  set  eyes  on  you.</p>
<p>An  hour  or  so  after  you’d  left  his  apartment  and  he  was  following  the  instructions  you’d  given  him  for  Harlem.  Later  he’d  be  hosting  a  Grief  Counseling  Group  up  there  and  decided  to  go  on  early.  He’d  found  an  art  store  and  planned  to  find  a  coffee  shop  to  relax  at  for  a  while.  Possibly  do  some  sketching.  Walk  around.  See  what  sort  of  sights  you  saw  on  a  daily  basis.</p>
<p>Yeah,  maybe  he  was  feeling  some  kinda  sentimental.</p>
<p>He  was  feeling  all  kinds  of  things.</p>
<p>Which  was  probably  why  he  thought  he  was  hearing  things  at  first.  The  person  with  your  voice  was  saying  weird  things  to  someone  named  Bruce.</p>
<p>Clearly  he  was  imagining  it.</p>
<p>“<em>You  have  to  sell  how  many  of  these  things?</em>”</p>
<p>“<em><strong>I  don’t  know.  All  of  them  I  assume.  I  never  had  to  do  this  in  Gotham.  Your  world  is  so  weird.</strong></em>”</p>
<p>“<em>You  have  got  to  be  shitting  me!</em>”</p>
<p><em><strong>But  really!  Just  get  me  home.  If  you  get  me  home,  I’ll  have  Alfred  write  you  a  check.</strong></em>”</p>
<p>Between  that  and  sounds  of  the  train,  Steve  leaned  against  the  metal  bar  in  the  sea  of  people  crowded  into  the  small  space.  </p>
<p>Although,  no  one  had  openly  recognized  him  in  his  jeans  and  button  up  with  his  beard.  You’d  mentioned  liking  the  jeans  more  than  the  khakis.  Paired  with  a  baseball  cap.  No  one  had  pointed.  There  were  no  no-so-discreet  pictures  taken.  It’d  been  nice.</p>
<p>Ok,  so  sure,  the  train  smelled  pretty  bad  and  he  was  burning  up  from  all  the  bodies  heating  the  car  up.</p>
<p>Thoughts  of  after  the  shower  made  it  all  better.  When  you’d  gotten  on  your  knees  so  he  could  paint  your  breasts  with  his  spend  and  then  get  dressed.  Yeah.  That  thought  had  been  hanging  around  rent  free  in  his  head.</p>
<p>“<em>Hell  no  I  don’t  know  anything  about  the  Bolshevik  Revolution.  But  lucky  for  you,  we  live  with  a  little  ray  of  Russian  sunshine  that  does.  If  you  and  Kurt  clean  her  knives  again,  she’ll  probably  help  you  with  your  homework.</em>”</p>
<p>Something  about  those  words  caught  Steve’s  attention.</p>
<p>Something.</p>
<p>A  few  bumps  rocked  the  car.  Steve  moved  with  them,  swaying  as  people  did,  till  he  caught  sight  of  someone  two  or  three  bodies  away,  depending  on  how  people  swayed.</p>
<p>Black  and  white.</p>
<p>More  specifically,  black  slacks  and  a  white  shirt.  </p>
<p>Bodies  moved,  his  view  was  blocked.  </p>
<p>However,  in  a  stroke  of  luck,  a  station  neared.</p>
<p>“<em><strong>Or  I  could  have  her  jump  my  teacher  for  an  A…</strong></em>”</p>
<p>“<em>Bruce  I  swear…if  another  one  of  your  teachers  gets  beaten  up  by  a  skinny  blonde  European  woman…</em>”</p>
<p>Train  brakes  screeched.</p>
<p>Bodies  swayed  as  the  city  flew  by  the  window  into  a  station.  Sounds  and  movements  that  were  familiar,  comforting.  Something  that  had  been  around  when  he  grew  up.  Albeit  smaller,  it’d  grown  considerably  over  the  years  but  somethings  never  totally  changed.</p>
<p>People  moved,  shifted,  edged  closer  to  the  door.</p>
<p>Steve  found  himself  looking  right  at  you  and  a  little  boy  in  a  school  uniform  with  a  heavy  backpack.  Somewhere  between  here  and  his  apartment,  you’d  acquired  a  paper  bag  of  groceries  and  a  bulky  box.</p>
<p>Obviously,  the  boy  was  close  to  you,  probably  not  family  but  close.  </p>
<p>He  stood  against  the  floor  to  ceiling  metal  pole.  One  little  hand  on  that  questionably  dirty  pole  and  the  other  in  one  of  your  front  pants  pockets,  helping  balance  you  as  the  train  slowed.</p>
<p>As  if  sensing  something,  you  peered  around  the  car.</p>
<p>Paralyzed,  Steve  waited.  He  waited  to  see  how  you  reacted.  How  would  you  respond?  He  hadn’t  planned  this,  otherwise  he  would  have  had  a  plan.  A  good  one.  A  kid  was  another  big  surprise.  The  kid  really  threw  him.</p>
<p>What  had  you  said?</p>
<p>You  had  people  who  depended  on  you.  You’d  never  been  pregnant.  He’d  seen  you  naked  hours  earlier  and  there  hadn’t  been  any  sign  of  that  anywhere  on  your  body.  He  would  have  noticed.  It  would  have  been  something  he’d  bring  up.</p>
<p>“What  if  you  beat  her  up  for  me  for  a  good  grade  on  this  project?”  The  boy,  Bruce,  asked  you,  making  you  whip  your  head  back  to  him  and  completely  miss  the  passenger  hurriedly  push  past  you,  shove  against  you  in  haste  as  the  doors  opened  with  a  loud  whine.</p>
<p>Steve  was  moving  before  he  realized  it.</p>
<p>By  the  time  you’d  stumbled  forward  from  the  shove  and  Bruce’s  little  hands  went  upwards  to  catch  you…</p>
<p>…he  was  there,  a  hand  grabbing  that  box  full  of  chocolate  bars.  Other  hand  grabbing  you  around  the  waist  before  your  momentum  could  carry  you  to  the  dirty  floor.</p>
<p>“Hey  hey!  Hands  off  the  candy  pal!  Those  aren’t  free…”  Bruce  immediately  cut  in,  not  at  all  digging  how  close  this  strange  bearded  man  was  to  you,  or  how  close  he  held  you,  or  how  big  he  was  because  if  this  strange  man  took  off  with  the  school  chocolate  that  he  had  to  sell,  it  would  take  at  least  him  and  you  to  get  it  back.  </p>
<p>Although,  the  bearded  man  was  pretty  big.  And  you  did  seem  to  be  familiar  with  him. </p>
<p>You  were  thanking  him  and  even  letting  him  hold  the  box,  introducing  the  bearded  man  to  Bruce  as  some  homeboy  named  Steve.  Bruce’s  words,  not  yours,  but  you  seemed  to  be  comfortable  with  him  being  so  close,  with  his  hand  staying  somewhere  around  the  small  of  your  back  as  people  began  to  move  around  on  the  car.  “This  here  is  Bruce,  Steve.  Bruce  be  nice  to  Steve.”</p>
<p>Leading  Steve  to  reach  down  with  an  extended  hand  for  a  shake.  One  Bruce  returned  as  if  there  was  not  a  height  or  age  difference  between  the  males.</p>
<p>How  had  you  not  noticed  Steve?</p>
<p>He  was  kinda  hard  to  miss  being  so  big,  filling  out  those  jeans  quite  nicely.  More  than  a  few  people  noticed  and  when  your  eyes  wandered  down  for  a  briefest  of  moments,  heat  bloomed  up  your  spine.</p>
<p>Inside  of  your  bra  was  wet.  Sticky.  </p>
<p>A  sensation  that  led  back  to  your  shared  shower.  Nice  and  relaxing,  Steve  washed  your  hair  and  helped  you  clean  up.  Gentle  and  caring,  hands  soft  and  affectionate  all  over  you.  Once  out  though.  Once  dried  off.  It  hadn’t  taken  much  to  encourage  him  after  you  reminded  him.  It  didn’t  take  long  at  all  for  Steve  to  bring  his  semi-erect  cock  to  fully  there,  at  the  sight  of  you  kneeling  on  the  floor,  nude.</p>
<p>Heavy  strips  of  white  cum  had  covered  your  breasts  in  a  way  that  was  blatantly  possessive  and  debased  and  in  no  other  terms…hot…and  it  was  still  making  you  flush  at  the  memory,  continuing  to  make  sure  your  panties  were  still  wet.</p>
<p>What  a  fine  morning  it  had  been.</p>
<p>It  was  not  hard  to  miss  how  Steve’s  baby  blues  flickered  at  your  bra.  Or  how  he  wet  his  lips  with  that  tongue  of  his.</p>
<p>Dear  god,  you  had  to  look  away.</p>
<p>Leading  Bruce  to  chime  in,  naturally  suspicious  yet  intrigued.  Precious  little  face  looking  the  former  Avenger  up  and  down  appraisingly,  no  hint of  recognition  at  all.  “You  look  like  a  big  guy  who  enjoys  the  occasional  chocolate  bar.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. A Chaotic Saturday</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Authors Note: Hello all! This chapter does have two words in German.  *Tante: Aunt* and *Nein: No*  and any translation errors are mine alone. Thank you everyone for reading our story and leaving such wonderful feedback! It makes our day! Have a great weekend friendly readers!!</p><p>And now that I think of it, there is a Content Warning for a teenager running away. Incase that is upsetting for anyone. The teenager is found and safe, but it is in here.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Something  was  wrong.</p><p>In  the  weeks  that  passed,  Steve  heard  from  you  daily.  Texting  from  the  moment  you  were  up  till  you  went  to  bed  essentially.  It  was  a  rare  day  when  he  didn’t  physically  see  you,  even  if  it  was  just  for  coffee  before  you  picked  up  Bruce  at  school,  or  dinner  which  was  what  Steve  preferred.  Though  he  would  have  been  glad  to  take  you  out  to  every  restaurant  in  the  city,  spoil  you,  take  you  dancing  and  to  every  show  in  the  city,  every  event,  whatever  you  wanted.  Still,  staying  in  had  its  perks.  Winding  up  in  bed  until  you  had  to  leave  to  take  a  taxi  back  to  Harlem.  Which  was  really  beginning  to  get  on  Steve’s  last  nerve.  He  really  wasn’t  happy  about  it  and  each  time  you  regretfully  slipped  out  of  bed,  yanked  on  your  clothes  and  kissed  him  goodbye  all  the  way  to  a  cab,  he  would  look  at  the  folder  of  invoices  his  accountant  had  sent  over.  </p><p>All  your  information  regarding  bills  paid.  Everything  he  would  need  to  track  you  down  was  in  there.  </p><p>It  would  be  so  easy  to  go  to  Harlem  and  see  why  you  needed  to  go  home  every  night.  Why  Steve  couldn’t  go  to  your  home.  Why  on  earth  you  couldn’t  bring  Bruce  with  you  on  a  date.  He’d  asked.  He’d  offered.  Steve  didn’t  mind  kids.  Bruce  had  been  pretty  funny  when  he  met  him  on  the  subway.</p><p>He  could  practically  hear  Natasha  encouraging  him  to  open  it.  Take  a  peek.  See  what  was  inside  it.  It  wasn’t  like  he  <em>had</em>  to  do  anything  with  the  information.</p><p>Yet,  he  always  resisted.</p><p>Until  one  rainy  Friday  night  when  he  had  been  hosting  a  grief  counseling  group  in  Brooklyn,  up  the  street  from  where  he  lived.  As  soon  as  he  got  out,  he  saw  he  had  a  few  texts  from  you.  So  he  shot  one  back  and  began  his  short  walk  home.</p><p>No  answer.</p><p>Once  in  his  building,  he  paused  outside  the  stairwell  to  send  another  one  and  then  hurried  up  the  stairs.</p><p>No  answer.</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>When  he  was  in  his  apartment,  he  checked  and  saw  that  the  text  hadn’t  been  read  either.  So,  for  a  while,  he  let  it  go.  </p><p>Maybe  you  were  doing  something.  He  knew  for  a  fact,  after  overhearing  the  train  conversation  between  you  and  Bruce,  that  there  were  two  other  people  who  lived  with  you.  <em>People  depended  on  you</em>  was  what  you’d  told  him.</p><p>Steve  began  to  worry  when  you  didn’t  pick  up  your  phone  for  your  usual  nightly  talk  before  bed.</p><p>That  night,  Steve  couldn’t  concentrate  on  anything.  He  couldn’t  focus  on  reading  or  writing  or  sketching.  He  could  barely  focus  when  he  was  in  the  gym  working  out,  seemingly  constantly  checking  his  phone.</p><p>When  Saturday  morning  came  and  you  didn’t  answer  any  more  texts…well,  he  opened  the  envelope.</p><p>And  that  was  how  he  found  himself  in  Harlem,  staring  up  at  a  slim  brick  historic  townhouse,  crammed  between  a  white  brick  and  darker  red  brick  one.  Covered  with  lots  of  trim-work  that  looked  old.  Ivy  clung  in  numerous  places  and  all  the  windows  had  white  lacey  curtains.</p><p>Steve  could  see  you  living  here.</p><p>He  could  even  picture  Bruce  living  here.</p><p>Although,  as  he  stood  outside  of  it  on  the  sidewalk,  it  appeared  that  no  one  was  living  there.  </p><p>Rain  pinged  softly  off  his  baseball  hat  and  jacket.  </p><p>People  hurried  by  him  on  the  sidewalk,  oblivious  to  who  he  was,  or  what  was  going  on  in  his  world  that  was  spinning  so  fast  it  felt  like  it  was  totally  off  its  axis.  How  quickly  you’d  become  an  integral  part  of  his  world  was  shocking  to  him.  It  was  something  that  he  could  examine  at  another  time.  Until  that  time  came,  he  first  had  to  make  sure  you  were  ok.</p><p>Something  was  wrong.</p><p>Something  wasn’t  right.</p><p>He  could  feel  it  in  his  gut  and  after  one  more  look  up  at  the  slim  home,  three  floors  from  the  looks  of  it,  two  windows  on  each  floor  totaling  six,  he  knew  what  he  had  to  do.  Especially  when  he  saw  one  of  the  curtains  move  on  the  middle  left  window.</p><p>Someone  was  home.</p><p>Maybe  he  could  get  some  answers.  Maybe  you  were  home?  What  if  you  weren’t  hurt  and  you  were  just  having  second  thoughts?  If  you  were  having  concerns,  he  could  get  you  through  them.  If  you  were  hurt,  he’d  be  there  at  your  side.  Whatever  was  going  on,  he  would  be  there  no  matter  what.</p><p>Fully  committed,  he  climbed  up  the  steps  and  knocked.</p><p>Knocked  perhaps  a  bit  too  firmly  because  the  door  shifted.  Moved.  Somewhat  surprised  by  this,  Steve  gave  the  door  a  little  push  wondering  why  on  earth  it  wasn’t  shutting.  You  really  needed  to  get  a  better  door.  A  door  that  didn’t  shut  really  was  a  safety  hazard  and  he  himself  would  go  get  a  door  to  replace  it  the  second  he  tracked  you  down,  because  this  was  ridiculous.</p><p>Considering  how  much  money  he  was  giving  you,  a  door  should  have  been  no  problem.</p><p>“Hello?  It’s  me.  Steve.  Hello?  The  door  was  open…”</p><p>Without  going  inside,  he  pushed  the  door  further  open,  in  case  there  was  a  dog  or  cat.  The  last  thing  Steve  wanted  to  do  was  be  the  cause  of  a  beloved  pet  escaping  into  Harlem.</p><p>Movement  got  his  attention,  followed  by  the  distinct  smell  of  something  burning.</p><p>Upon  a  closer  inspection,  Steve  noticed  several  alarming  things  that  made  him  step  into  the  home  and  shout  for  you.</p><p>One.  There  was  a  hole  in  the  ceiling  the  size  of  a  washing  machine.  A  jagged  hold  that  went  straight  up  into  what  looked  like  the  second  floor.  Steve  could  distinctly  make  out  wood  and  insulation  and  blood…was  that  blood?</p><p>Over  on  a  couch  was  a  young  blonde  woman  who  looked  dead.</p><p>Which  was  Steve’s  next  stop.</p><p>Quickly  he  hurried  over  to  her,  pressed  two  fingers  to  her  neck  and  felt  for  a  pulse.  One  look  told  him  her  arm  was  broken  at  the  humerus.  There  were  wood  splinters  in  her  hair.  Her  face  and  neck  were  scratched  up,  shirt  ripped.  Her  pulse  was  strong  though.  Her  breathing  sounded  normal.  No  obvious  obstructions.  No  wet  sounds.</p><p>A  cooing  caught  his  attention  next.</p><p>All  of  this  was  one  assault  after  another  on  his  senses  and  he  could  have  sworn  that  he  heard  feet  up  above  him.</p><p>A  baby  was  in  a  playpen.</p><p>Why  was  there  a  baby?  Why  was  no  one  coming  to  check  on  this  baby?  What  was  going  on?</p><p>Again,  Steve  shouted  for  you,  called  out  for  whoever  was  home.  Because  someone  was  home.  Someone  was  walking  around  upstairs.  Not  only  could  he  hear  them  but  his  body  was  on  alert,  all  of  his  senses  told  him  that  he  was  not  alone  and  it  was  not  the  cooing  dark  eyed  baby  with  a  head  full  of  dark  curls,  wearing  a  pink  frilly  dress,  reaching  up  for  him  with  chubby  little  hands.  </p><p>A  pop  came.</p><p>No.</p><p>A  sucking  noise?</p><p>No,  not  quite.</p><p>It  almost  felt  like  when  his  ears  popped  at  elevation.</p><p>Whirling  around,  Steve  was  greeted  to  the  sight  of  blue  smoke.  The  front  door  was  slammed  shut  and  that  noise.</p><p>Pressure.  A  pop.  A  snap.</p><p>It  happened  again  over  by  the  playpen.</p><p>A  snap,  pop,  blue  smoke  and  the  baby  was  gone.</p><p>What  in  the  hell?</p><p>He  was  most  definitely  not  in  Brooklyn  anymore.</p><p>A  quick  peek  backwards  let  him  know  the  blonde  woman  was  still  unconscious  on  the  couch.  She  hadn’t  moved  a  muscle.  So…it  definitely  wasn’t  her,  whatever  it  was  that  was  currently  going  on.</p><p>Unsure  whether  he  was  in  danger  or  it  was  something  else  entirely,  Steve  heard  it  again.</p><p>A  sucking  pressure,  a  pop  and  a  snap  from  somewhere  up  through  a  doorway  just  out  of  sight.  A  kitchen  maybe?  It  was  a  small  space.  An  old  historic  townhome  that  when  he  looked  around,  he  noticed  lots  of  little  shoes.  Toys.  Backpacks  by  the  front  door.  On  the  TV  were  cartoons.  Open  boxes  of  baking  soda.  How  could  he  have  missed  noticing  all  of  that?</p><p>Cooing  came  from  where  the  popping  noises  came.  That  was  definitely  where  the  baby  had  wound  up.</p><p>Soft  talking  caught  his  attention.</p><p>A  soft  young  voice.  A  child’s  voice?  A  heavily  accented  voice?</p><p>What  in  the  hell  did  you  have  going  on  under  this  roof?</p><p>Slowly  Steve  walked  towards  that  doorway.  Making  very  sure  to  speak  softly,  gently,  all  while  he  did  his  darnedest  to  figure  out  what  the  hell  had  just  happened  right  before  his  eyes.  </p><p>“I  apologize  for  barging  in.  The  front  door  was  open…it  opened  on  me.  My  name  is  Steve.  I’m  looking  for  your…Aunt  I  think?  Maybe  your  legal  guardian?  A  cousin?  Or  Bruce.  Is  Bruce  here?  Bruce  can  tell  you  I  mean  you  no  harm.  I  bought  chocolate  from  him…”  And  getting  up  to  the  doorway,  Steve  could  see  a  figure  hiding  behind  the  kitchen  table.  From  where  he  stood  in  the  open  doorway,  he  could  make  out  a  head  of  dark  hair.  Some  clothes?  Someone  was  certainly  hiding  behind  it  with  a  very  vocal  baby.  “…I  was  calling  your  Aunt  and  I  got  worried.  I  thought  something  might  be  wrong  when  she  never  called  me  back,  so  I  came  here  to  check  up  on  things.  Are  you  ok?  Can  you  understand  me?”</p><p>Movement.</p><p>Some  shuffling.</p><p>Steve  had  absolutely  no  idea  what  to  do.  What  would  Natasha  do?  Natasha  would  know  what  to  do.</p><p>And  maybe  she  really  was  watching  out  for  him  from  up  above?  A  sudden  and  firm  thought  that  he  needed  to  get  down  on  his  knees,  to  get  eye  level  with  this  child  was  solid  in  his  head.  It  was  what  Nat  would  do.  Nat  would  want  to  get  down  on  the  same  level  so  as  not  to  frighten  the  kid.  And  that  was  what  he  did.  Dropping  down  to  his  knees  on  the  hardwood  floor,  Steve  watched  the  figure  peer  around  the  table.</p><p>Hands  going  up,  he  added  for  good  measure.  “I…I  just  wanted  to  make  sure  everything  was  ok.  No  one  was  answering  my  calls.  I’m  Steve.  Steve  Rogers.  What’s  your  name?”</p><p>A  soft  voice  answered  back  with  a  distinctively  German  accent.  “Kurt.  Kurt  Vagner.”</p><p>When  the  child  moved  around,  Steve  swore  he  heard  a  swishing.  Swore  his  ears  picked  up  on  nails  clicking  on  the  floor.  Which  couldn’t  be  right.  </p><p>“She’s  not  here.  She’s  out.  Looking  for  Marie.  There  vas…an  accidant  last  night.”</p><p>And  even  weirdly,  it  sounded  to  Steve  like  this  kid  was  speaking  with  a  mouth  full  of  cotton  balls  too.</p><p>“Why  don’t  you  come  over  here  and  tell  me  what  happened  son?  Are  you  hurt  too?”</p><p>There  was  a  pause.  A  hesitation.  Hiding  again  behind  the  table,  Steve  began  to  wonder  what  on  earth  was  going  on  and  how  you  were  involved  and  what  in  the  hell  he  could  even  do  to  try  and  help.  Because  his  very  first  impulse  was  to  fix  everything  for  you.</p><p>“Promise…promise  you  von’t  scream.”</p><p>In  that  very  second  Steve  was  most  glad  that  he  had  led  the  life  he  had.  Before,  he’d  encountered  aliens  and  robots,  was  friends  with  an  actual  god.  Seen  a  carrier  vessel  that  could  not  only  fly  but  turn  invisible.  Then  there  had  been  Vision.  He’d  seen  a  lot  in  his  life  and  all  of  that  prepared  him  for  what,  nay,  whom,  was  in  your  kitchen.</p><p>Because  it  was  a  child.  A  he,  Steve  came  to  notice,  after  promising  that  he  wouldn’t  scream  and  the  figure  edged  out.  Crept  out  from  behind  the  table  and  chair  that  had  provided  a  degree  of  concealment.  </p><p>Thank  goodness  for  every  experience  he’d  had  and  for  Nat’s  voice  in  his  head  telling  him  to  get  down.  Because  he  didn’t  scream.  He  didn’t  really  react.  Other  than  to  sit  back  on  the  bottoms  of  his  shoes,  rest  his  palms  down  on  his  denim  clad  thighs.</p><p>This  child  was  blue.  A  dark  blue.  A  blue  resplendent  of  his  old  Captain  America  suits.</p><p>Stepping  out  from  behind  the  table,  Steve  first  thought  he  was  bowlegged  by  how  he  moved,  until  Steve  realized  that  his  bare  feet  were  not  quite  normal  either.  Three  toed  feet.  And  this  kid,  Kurt,  had  a  tail  which  seemed  to  add  some  influence  into  his  movements.</p><p>That  baby  on  his  hip  seemed  utterly  thrilled  the  tails  movements,  happily  reaching  out  for  it  each  time  it  bobbed  by.</p><p>“What…what  kind  of  an  accident  Kurt?”</p><p>Nervous  yellow  eyes  watched  Steve  as  if  waiting  for  the  other  shoe  to  drop.</p><p>When  Steve  gestured  with  his  chin  over  his  shoulder,  an  urge  to  pop  on  out  with  Sparky  was  strong.  As  you  had  told  Kurt  to  stay  here  and  watch  over  Sparky  and  Yelena.  You  had  put  Kurt  in  charge  last  night  when  you  and  Bruce  went  out  to  find  Anna-Marie.  </p><p>“Was  that  hole  in  the  floor  the  accident?  Did  that  blonde  woman  fall  through  the  floor?”</p><p>Nails  clicked  on  the  floor  which  was  downright  surreal  to  Steve.  This  boy  was  about  the  same  size  as  Bruce  from  the  subway  yet…so  different.  He  had  so  many  questions.</p><p>Kurt  began  to  toy  with  the  baby’s  sock  covered  foot  with  a  three  fingered  hand  that  seemed  to  be  half  human  and  half  claw.  It  did  not  escape  Steve’s  curious  notice.</p><p>“Marie…”  he  finally  answered  Steve,  shifting  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  both  rocking  and  clinging  to  the  baby.  Steve  noticed  his  teeth  too,  further  adding  to  the  bizarreness  of  the  whole  situation  and  explaining  those  words  that  didn’t  sound  exactly  right.  “She  didn’t  mean  it.  She,  she  is…like  me.  Yelena  fell  down  zhe  steps…”  A  gesture  was  made  up  with  his  tail,  gesturing  upstairs  Steve  assumed,  resulting  in  a  nod  from  him  even  though  he  was  more  caught  up  with  the  tail.  “I  caught  her.  I  tried…to  land  on  zhe  couch…but  no,  zhe  floor,  I  misjudged.  Yelena.  She  does  not  heal  quickly.  Marie  ran  away  before  ve  knew.  Tante  and  Bruce  are  looking  since  last  night.”</p><p>Hearing  all  that,  Steve  came  to  realize  that  there  was  another  person  living  in  your  home,  that  depended  on  you,  named  Marie.  Yelena  and  Kurt  had  seemingly  gone  through  the  floor  somehow  and  he’d  figure  out  how  at  a  later  time,  when  he  could  have  a  good  heart  to  heart  with  Kurt.  </p><p>Currently  the  situation  was  unfolding  and  required  his  utmost  attention.</p><p>He  was  now  understanding  what  was  going  on,  why  you  hadn’t  been  answering  your  phone  and  why  you  hadn’t  been  exactly  forthcoming  with  information  previously.</p><p>“How  old  is  Marie?”</p><p>Kurt  blew  out  a  breath  through  pointed  teeth  thoughtfully.  “Fourteen?  Yes.  Most  likely.  Or  fifteen?”</p><p>Not  at  all  wanting  Kurt,  this  child,  to  get  upset  and  turn  into  blue  smoke  with  that  baby.  Possibly  getting  stuck  in  the  floor  again.  Although  not  that  he  was  sure  that  was  what  had  led  to  the  huge  hole  in  the  floor,  or  the  maimed  woman  on  the  couch,  Steve  wanted  to  keep  things  calm  and  everyone  in  physical  form.  Not  being  totally  solid  on  the  what  and  how  of  last  night’s  events.  Only  that  they  had  been  bad.  A  young  teen  somewhere  in  the  city?  Running  away?  </p><p>An  idea  sprung  to  mind.</p><p>“Do  you  have  a  picture  of  Marie?”</p><p>At  that  request,  Kurt  walked  over  to  the  fridge.  Allowing  Steve  to  look  around  and  take  note  of  a  considerable  amount  of  little  orange  boxes.  Baking  soda.  Another  question  for  another  time.</p><p>“And  there’s  no  one  else?  Only  you  and  the  baby,  the  young  woman  out  there,  plus  Bruce  and  your  Aunt?  That’s  it?  No  more  surprises?”</p><p>“Nein,”  was  the  response  that  Steve  got,  followed  by  Kurt  hurrying  over  with  a  picture  in  hand.  One  that  the  young  boy  held  almost  reverently  before  handing  over.  It  wasn’t  lost  on  Steve  either.  Nor  how  nervously  Kurt  held  himself,  pulling  back  as  soon  as  Steve  had  the  picture,  out  of  reach.  Making  Steve  very  sure  to  thank  Kurt.  Thank  him  while  maintaining  eye  contact  and  keeping  his  face  nothing  but  grateful.</p><p>Something  that  could  have  been  a  nervous  smile  huffed  from  Kurt.</p><p>It  was  a  Halloween  picture  Steve  noticed.</p><p>You.  Yelena.  A  young  woman  he  didn’t  recognize.  Plus  Kurt  and  Bruce  all  huddled  together.  Minus  the  baby.  Both  boys  were  a  midnight  blue  he  noticed,  Bruce’s  straighter  hair  was  easy  to  pick  out,  though  he  appeared  to  have  in  yellow  contacts  and  gloves  on.  Halloween  would  be  one  of  the  few  times  Kurt  could  leave  the  house.  </p><p>You  and  the  young  woman  were  dressed  up  as  witches.  Bundled  up  and  seemingly  ecstatic  with  life  in  general.</p><p>Slowly,  Steve  began  to  stand,  wanting  to  put  the  picture  down  on  the  counter.  “I’m  going  to  take  a  picture  of  this  and  then  call  someone  that  can  help.  Ok?  Don’t  go  anywhere.  Stay  here.  No  more  turning  into  smoke  with  the  baby.”</p><p>Kurt  nodded  and  watched  Steve  stand,  watched  him  walk  over  to  the  nearby  counter  in  one  big  step.  Not  too  bothered  when  Sparky  finally  managed  to  grab  his  tail.  A  happy  shriek  came  from  her,  resulting  in  Steve  looking  and  Kurt  telling  him.  “Her  name  ist  Sparky.”</p><p>Speechless,  he  was  speechless.</p><p>“She  starts  fires,”  Kurt  elaborated.  </p><p>“Fires?”</p><p>Kurt  nodded  and  she  mirrored  him,  the  triangle  of  his  tail  smacking  between  her  hands  too  quickly  to  be  caught,  for  which  Sparky  was  giving  her  best  effort.</p><p>Ah,  Steve  then  understood  what  was  with  all  the  baking  soda.</p><p>Because  of  course  she  did.  Why  wouldn’t  she  start  fires?  What  in  the  ever-loving  hell  was  going  on  in  Harlem?</p><p>Blinking  for  a  second  or  two,  looking  a  bit  closer  at  the  normal  looking  baby,  he  then  turned  back  to  his  phone  to  send  Sam  the  picture  before  pulling  him  up  in  his  phonebook.  This  was  going  to  require  a  phone  call.</p><p> </p><p>						***</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Marie  is  at  Grand  Central  Station.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>You’d  been  up  all  night  long,  running  around  the  greater  New  York  City  area,  scouring  subway  stations  and  showing  Marie’s  picture  to  every  bus  and  cab  driver  you  came  across.  </p><p>You  had  finally  come  to  a  stop  to  feed  Bruce.  Realizing  that  you  had  absolutely  no  idea  what  to  do  next  or  where  to  look  when  your  phone  dinged  with  a  text  and  when  you  read  it,  you  stared  in  utter  disbelief.</p><p>It  was  from  Steve.</p><p>It  was  from  Steve  and  he  knew  where  Marie  was,  which,  making  a  leap  that  your  sleep  deprived  brain  was  only  just  barely  capable  of  making,  meant  Steve  knew  what  happened  last  night  and  about  Marie,  which  was  downright  terrifying.  Almost  as  much  as  his  next  message.  A  picture  actually.  One  that  had  you  unlocking  your  phone  and  opening  your  text  messages.</p><p>A  picture  of  Anna-Marie  in  a  chair,  arms  tightly  wrapped  around  herself,  looking  terrified  and  upset.</p><p>Meaning  Steve  was  there  and  close  enough  to  get  a  picture.</p><p>“Holy  shit,”  came  from  you.</p><p>Up  you  stood,  scrambling  from  the  orange  booth  you’d  been  seated  at  across  from  Bruce  in  a  doughnut  shop.  You’d  been  so  terrified…so  guilty,  you  hadn’t  been  able  to  eat  anything,  drink  anything.  You  barely  noticed  Bruce  had  eaten  all  three  of  the  doughnuts  you  bought  and  drank  your  coffee,  leaving  his  bottle  of  water  untouched.</p><p>“Steve  found  Anna-Marie.  Come  on  Bruce.”</p><p>And  you  felt  so  bad.</p><p>You’d  drug  Bruce  around  with  you  all  night  in  your  hunt.  You’d  been  ignoring  Steve  to  save  the  battery  on  your  phone  incase  Kurt  called  to  tell  you  Anna-Marie  came  home,  or  that  Yelena  either  woke  up  or  died.</p><p>It’d  been  a  night  to  end  all  nights.</p><p>The  screaming  that  you’d  heard  still  made  your  blood  go  cold.</p><p>You’d  been  walking  up  the  steps  with  a  basket  of  clean  laundry  when  it  happened.  It  all  unfolded  before  your  eyes.  </p><p>Both  boys  had  come  running  down  the  hallway  yelling  for  a  fire  extinguisher,  ran  right  into  Yelena  and  knocked  her  into  Anna-Marie.  Unfortunately,  you  watched  Anna-Marie  panic  at  being  touched  and  shove  Yelena  away  blindly.  Shoving  Yelena  through  the  bannister  on  the  third  floor.  Hitting  it  perfectly,  cracking  the  rail  and  sending  Yelena  down  towards  the  second-floor  floor  and  towards  a  horrific  spinal  and  head  injury.  Kurt.  Thank  god  for  Kurt.  Kurt  who  grabbed  Yelena  right  out  of  thin  air  in  a  puff  of  blue  smoke.  Unfortunately,  he  didn’t  quite  clear  the  flooring  when  he  reappeared  out  of  wherever  it  was  he  went,  taking  a  chunk  of  the  floor  with  him.  He’d  been  ok  when  he  regained  consciousness.  Physics  and  all  were  mostly  to  blame  for  the  floor.  Him  landing  on  Yelena  and  the  drop  from  the  ceiling  to  the  first  floor  had  resulted  in  Yelena’s  injuries.  Next  thing  you  knew,  Anna-Marie  was  missing  and  Bruce  was  yelling  about  a  fire  in  the  bathroom.</p><p>As  fast  as  your  thumbs  could  text,  you  whipped  a  message  back  to  Steve.  </p><p>
  <em>Don’t  touch  her</em>
</p><p>Sliding  out  in  Tom  Cruise  fashion.  Bruce  grabbed  the  water  bottle  and  announced.  “I’m  ready  for  anything!”</p><p>Something  about  his  tone  made  you  look  away  from  your  phone.</p><p>All  three  doughnuts  were  gone.  Your  paper  cup  of  coffee  was  empty.  Numerous  empty  packets  of  sugar  were  on  the  table.</p><p>Bruce  indeed  was  ready  and  you  almost  felt  bad.  You’d  been  feeling  super  guilty  about  making  him  run  up  to  Grand  Central  Station.  But  now?  Now  you  might  make  him  carry  you.</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>I  know.  Kurt  told  me  about  her  condition.  I’ll  make  sure  she  doesn’t  go  far  if  she  gets  up.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>Kurt  told  Steve  about  Anna-Marie’s  condition?</p><p>Those  implications  hit  you  like  a  sack  of  bricks.  Right  around  the  time  that  Bruce  began  to  moonwalk  towards  the  trash  with  all  your  breakfast  wrappers.</p><p>Suddenly…you  weren’t  tired  anymore.  You  weren’t  at  a  loss  of  what  to  do  or  say,  or  how  to  go  on.  You  had  a  purpose  again.  Your  fire  was  once  more  lit.  Whether  it  was  the  knowledge  of  where  exactly  Anna-Marie  had  gotten  in  a  city  of  nearly  eight  and  a  half  million  people  so  you  could  go  collect  her,  or  maybe  it  was  someone  knowing  you  were  harboring  people  that  General  Ross  had  publicly  declared  a  threat  to  national  security,  plus  whatever  the  hell  Yelena  was  up  to.  Or  maybe  you  were  getting  another  wind  from  a  surge  in  spirit  and  adrenaline.  But  you  too,  as  Bruce  had  declared,  were  ready  for  anything.  Hell,  with  the  amount  of  sugar  and  caffeine  coursing  through  Bruce,  you  could  have  probably  ridden  him  like  dolphin  up  the  Hudson.</p><p>Your  two  worlds  that  you’d  worked  so  hard  at  keeping  apart  were  now  meeting  and  you  had  absolutely  no  idea  how  it  would  go.  This  was  not  how  things  were  supposed  to  go.  Your  personal  life  and  home  life  were  never  supposed  to  come  together.  </p><p> </p><p>						***</p><p> </p><p>Steve  figured  it  out  the  second  he  noticed  you.</p><p>He  was  able  to  put  his  finger  on  what  it  was  about  you  that  kept  pulling  him  in,  drawing  him  closer,  making  him  crazy  when  he  wasn’t  around  you.</p><p>Chaos.</p><p>It  was  an  organized  sort  of  chaos.</p><p>As  much  as  he  fought  to  keep  his  new  life  managed,  his  new  home  orderly,  his  days  scheduled  precisely…he  couldn’t  help  but  seek  it  out.  Still.  Bucky  would  have  rolled  his  eyes  and  Sam  would  have  found  it  hysterical.  Natasha  would  have  expected  no  less.</p><p>And  you  had  hid  it  so  well  from  him.</p><p>He  thrived  on  chaos.  Whether  on  the  battlefield  or  missions,  privately  with  his  closest  friends  and  even  before  the  serum.  Robots  in  Sokovia.  Nazi’s  in  the  war.  Natasha.  Bucky.  Tony.  Wanda.  Lagos.  The  Chitauri  in  New  York  City.  Thanos  and  his  army.  Hydra.  All  of  it  had  given  him  a  purpose,  something  to  fight  towards  or  people  to  fight  for.</p><p>It  wasn’t  like  something  that  you  sought  out.  It  was  not  drama.  Steve  had  more  than  enough  going  on  to  deal  with  petty  things.  After  listening  to  Kurt,  it  was  clear  that  each  person  had  fallen  into  your  life  and  you’d  been  unable  to  cast  them  out,  ignore  their  need  for  help  regardless  of  how  dangerous  it  was,  especially  in  the  case  of  that  baby.</p><p>Maybe  he  had  unknowingly  sensed  it  on  you?</p><p>Chaos.</p><p>Orbiting  around  you  like  planets.</p><p>He’d  watched  over  Marie  until  you  arrived  like  a  storm  rolling  in.  Yelling  and  shouting  at  her,  throwing  your  arms  around  until  the  teenager  stood  with  tears  streaking  down  her  face.  People  around  did  their  very  best  to  ignore  the  emotional  display  but  Steve  couldn’t.  You  yelled  and  Marie  shouted  back  producing  rivers  of  tears.  When  you  hugged  her,  she  tried  to  shove  you  away.  However,  you  held  strong  till  she  gave  in  and  began  to  cry  against  you.</p><p>For  a  moment,  Steve  wasn’t  sure  what  to  do.</p><p>Dare  he  intrude  on  what  was  clearly  a  private  moment?</p><p>Up  till  he  heard  you  tell  her  rather  sternly,  “Don’t  you  ever  do  that  again.  I  told  you,  we  will  get  all  of  you  to  that  safe  place.  We  just  have  to  find  it.  Running  away  isn’t  going  to  fix  anything.”</p><p>He  wasn’t  intruding  on  some  big  family  moment.  Steve’s  hearing  let  him  hear  all  kinds  of  things  all  around,  sometimes  too  many  things,  but  the  things  you  told  Marie  surprised  him.  It  was  one  more  chaotic  layer  that  he  wanted  to  peel  back  on  you.  That  he  so  badly  wanted  to  scratch  at,  help  you  with,  dare  say  even  fix.  He  could  practically  hear  Natasha  and  Tony  laughing  at  him  from  the  great  beyond.</p><p>Most  definitely  he  noticed  the  kid  from  the  subway  with  you,  Bruce,  mosey  over  and  take  a  stand  beside  him  to  watch  the  scene  unfold.  Hands  shoved  in  his  pockets.  Seemingly  neither  too  surprised  or  bothered  by  the  sight.</p><p>“So…”  Bruce’s  voice  caught  his  attention,  made  him  look  down  at  the  child  who  peered  up  at  him.  Face  nothing  but  serious.  “What’d  you  think  of  Kurt?”  And  then  Bruce  smirked  rather  broadly,  snickered  a  bit,  waited  for  an  answer.  </p><p>Ever  since  he  was  a  boy,  he  could  remember  fighting  for  what  was  right,  trying  to  fix  things,  make  things  better.  Nat  would  tease  him,  say  that  he  could  never  be  happy  with  a  nice  normal  life  with  a  nice  normal  person.  It  had  been  why  Clint’s  domestic  farmhouse  made  him  so  uncomfortable  when  they  were  hunting  Ultron.</p><p>It  wasn’t  that  he  didn’t  want  a  home  or  his  own  version  of  a  family,  whatever  that  could  be.  Family  and  stability,  a  simple  life?  Clint  and  Tony  had  had  it  and  it  was  leaving  a  bitter  taste  in  Steve’s  mouth.  He  was  beginning  to  realize  that  it  worked  for  them  because  both  Clint  and  Tony  had  been  pure  chaos  and  the  simple  life  worked  for  them.  It  was  the  exact  opposite  for  Steve,  he  was  beginning  to  realize.  </p><p>With  his  old  home  gone,  his  old  family  decimated  and  dead  and  scattered  in  the  wind.  He  was  finally  gaining  traction  in  starting  over.</p><p>Brushing  a  hand  over  his  beard,  Steve  clapped  right  back.  “Are  you  special  too?  Kurt  is  special.  So’s  the  baby  and  he  told  me  how  Marie  is  special.  What  about  you?”</p><p>“I’m  a  whole  separate  level  of  special.”  Then,  peering  around  the  bustling  transportation  hub,  Bruce  leaned  close  to  Steve,  making  the  taller  man  lean  down  so  he  could  speak  in  a  conspiratorial  tone.  “Now’s  your  chance  to  get  out  of  here  while  the  getting  is  good.  The  second  we  get  home,  it’s  gonna  be  like  fireworks  and  I  don’t  know  if  you’re  prepared.  You  seem  way  too  on  the  ball  to  associate  with  our  types.”</p><p>Oh  yeah,  Steve  wasn’t  going  anywhere  anytime  soon.</p><p>“Son,  I’ve  been  one  of  your  types  before  it  was  a  type.”</p><p> </p><p>						***</p><p> </p><p>Steve’s  day  didn’t  slow  down  one  bit.</p><p>Upon  leaving  and  heading  back  to  Harlem.  There  was  the  matter  of  Yelena  to  deal  with,  who  was  conscious  and  needed  assistance  getting  to  a  doctor  she  knew  who  wouldn’t  ask  pesky  questions  like  <em>how  did  this  happen</em>,  or,  <em>did  someone  do  this  to  you</em>?</p><p>And  then,  after  her  arm  was  set  and  casted,  there  was  the  matter  of  the  hole  in  the  second  story  floor  that  required  attention.  A  trip  to  the  hardware  store  for  supplies  had  been  made.  Somehow,  not  surprisingly,  everyone  working  at  the  hardware  store  was  familiar  with  you.  </p><p>To  be  quite  honest,  it  was  the  most  chaotic  Saturday  that  Steve  had  had  in  quite  a  long  time.  Constant  going  and  doing  and  going  and  getting  stuff  done.  Continuous  motion  with  frenetic  little  balls  of  energy  humming  around  him.  Lunch  was  a  loud  cacophony  of  sounds,  so  much  food,  simple  food,  grilled  cheeses  and  tomato  soup  with  everyone  crammed  into  that  small  kitchen.  </p><p>After  a  few  hours,  Steve  found  himself  not  seeing  Kurt  any  different  than  Bruce.  He  helped  you  clean  up  the  dishes  and  tossed  a  bit  too  much  baking  soda  down  on  the  couch  when  a  small  bit  of  flames  started  up  on  the  furniture.  Ok,  a  whole  box,  he’d  dumped  a  whole  box  on  the  arm  of  the  couch.</p><p>It’d  taken  all  of  you  to  put  a  makeshift  cover  over  the  hole  in  the  floor,  till  an  actual  solution  could  be  found.  Steve  spent  a  considerable  amount  of  time  longer  than  usual  putting  the  supporting  boards  of  wood  in,  followed  by  a  big  panel  of  wood.  Mostly  because  of  helpful  little  hands  that  had  numerous  questions  that  he  couldn’t  bring  himself  to  not  answer,  or  not  accept  their  help.  </p><p>“Wow  so  you’re  really  strong  huh?  How  much  can  you  bench?”</p><p>“Dis  was  done  to  you?  Intentionally?  You  veally  took  a  serum  to  get  dis  big?”</p><p>“Can  you  pick  up  a  car?”</p><p>“Vhat  does  the  tool  you  vant  look  like?  It  is  not  here.”</p><p>“Are  you  extra  hairy  since  you’re  extra  big?  Do  you  get  roid  rage?  Cause  you’re  essentially  just  really  hopped  up  on  growth  enhancing  drugs.”</p><p>“No…I  do  not  see  zee  hammer…oh,  here  it  is!”</p><p>And  then  there  was  dinner.</p><p>Another  affair  of  noises  and  excitement,  a  small  fire,  obvious  swearing  in  Russian  and  that  was  before  the  order  for  delivery  had  even  been  placed.  Seeing  how  tired  you  looked  and  having  noticed  how  vulnerable  Marie  was  most  the  day,  Steve  made  the  executive  decision  to  order  dinner  for  everyone.</p><p>If  he’d  been  home  all  day…he  would  have  been  alone  with  his  thoughts,  his  work,  planning  for  the  week,  working  out,  texting  you  and  thinking  about  when  he  would  next  see  you.</p><p>Finding  himself  in  Harlem  with  you,  in  this  place,  the  mere  thought  of  what  his  previous  Saturday  had  been  like,  it  was  so  far  removed  from  where  he  was  in  the  now.  In  no  way  did  he  want  to  go  back  to  that  bleakness,  that  silence,  that  lonely  solitude  that  he  felt  he  deserved.</p><p>Bedtime  sounded  like  some  sort  of  a  ritual  upstairs  that  Steve  bowed  out  of.  While  you  were  upstairs  herding  elephants,  from  the  sounds  of  it,  he  went  into  the  kitchen  to  straighten  up.  He  cleaned  the  counters.  Anna-Marie  had  done  it,  but,  he  did  it  again.  He  cleaned  the  table,  swept  the  floor  then  found  the  Swiffer  and  used  that  too.</p><p>Steve  even  straightened  up  little  orange  boxes  of  baking  soda  around  the  kitchen.  By  the  time  you  came  downstairs,  Steve  was  doing  laundry.  Not  that  you  could  say  it  was  a  huge  surprise.  Of  course,  he  would  find  the  stacked  washer  dryer  unit  in  a  little  closet  in  the  back  of  the  kitchen.</p><p>This  was  your  life.</p><p>The  former  Captain  America  was  stuffing  wet  laundry  from  your  washer  into  your  dryer.  Sometimes  you  really  did  wonder  how  your  life  wound  up  here.  You  really  did.</p><p>“Steve,”  you  sighed,  feeling  the  weight  of  exhaustion  weigh  down  on  you.  “You  don’t  have  to  do  that.  You  don’t  have  to  stay.  I’m  sure  you’re  more  than  ready  to  get  out  of  this  circus  you’ve  found  yourself  in.”</p><p>Ignoring  you,  Steve  tossed  all  different  colored  towels  in  the  dryer.  “What  did  you  mean?  At  the  train  station.  You  told  Marie  that  you’d  find  that  safe  place  for  all  of  them.”</p><p>If  Steve  had  grown  wings  you  wouldn’t  have  been  more  surprised.  Blinking.  Even  maybe  wheeling  back  a  bit.  You  hadn’t  said  that  out  loud.  You’d  whispered  it  in  Anna-Marie’s  ear.  That  was  not  the  type  of  thing  you  went  around  advertising.  How  on  earth  did  he  hear…his  super  soldier  hearing.  That  was  how  he  heard.</p><p>Realizing  that,  you  nodded,  you  pushed  your  hands  in  the  pockets  of  your  jeans.  “Right.  You  have  the  superhero  hearing.”</p><p>Steve  said  nothing,  not  wanting  to  further  elaborate  on  how  different  he  was  from  you.</p><p>Leaning  back  on  your  heels,  Steve  threw  out  there,  “No  one’s  come  down  the  stairs.  I’ll  let  you  know  if  they  do.”</p><p>Again,  those  super  senses  of  his,  right.  Nodding  because  this  was  your  life  now.  You  cleared  your  throat  and  swore  you  could  smell  the  sweet  Swiffer  smell.  Had  Steve  mopped?  </p><p>“There’s  a  place  somewhere  up  north,  upstate…someplace.  We’ve  heard  rumors.  A  safe  place  for  Kurt  and  Sparky  and  Anna-Marie,  a  way  home  for  Bruce.  There  is  a  man  that  owns  it  named  Charles  something  or  other.  He’s  a  doctor  or  lawyer  or  something  like  that.  He  helps  children  and  people  like  them.  Yelena  and  I  have  been  trying  to  find  out  where  he  is.  Anna-Marie  was  looking  for  him  when  we  met  up.  I  just  haven’t  found  that  right  person  who  knows  yet.”</p><p>Your  words  made  Steve  pause  for  a  second,  then  slowly  finish  putting  the  rest  of  the  clothes  and  towels  in.  “Well,  what  do  you  know?”</p><p>A  gesture  was  made  from  you  that  conveyed  that  was  it.  “All  I  know  is  it’s  a  boarding  school  somewhere  upstate.  That’s  it.”</p><p>That  was  it.</p><p>That  was  all  you  had  to  go  on.</p><p>You  knew  for  a  fact  that  you  couldn’t  keep  them,  no  matter  how  much  you  may  have  wanted  to  and  you  did,  you  really  really  did.  But  Bruce  didn’t  belong  here.  Anna-Marie  needed  to  learn  how  to  live  with  her  condition  in  a  safe  way,  so  she  could  have  a  normal  life.  Kurt  needed  to  be  able  to  have  a  normal  life  as  possible  and  Sparky  was  a  freakin  fire  hazard.  None  of  which  were  things  you  were  anywhere  near  capable  of  doing,  providing  or  finding  answers  for  on  the  internet.  However,  you  had  seen  more  than  your  fair  share  of  true  crime  shows.  If  anyone  on  earth  could  find  this  Charles  dude,  who  ran  an  underground  school  to  help  kids  like  the  ones  under  your  roof,  it  was  you.</p><p>Steve  set  the  dryer  and  turned  to  you.  He  had  this  look  on  his  face  and  when  he  pointed  over  at  the  table  and  chairs…you  just  knew.</p><p>“Look,  Steve,”  you  began,  trying  your  best  to  put  on  that  brave  face  you’d  heard  so  much  about  and  after  him  having  spent  the  day  with  you,  you  weren’t  at  all  shocked  that  he’d  want  to  end  things  as  quick  as  humanly  possible.  Hell,  you  were  surprised  he’d  lasted  this  long.  The  man  was  a  good  sport.  You’d  give  him  that  for  sure.  “You  really  don’t  have  to  say  anything.  I  understand.  You  did  far  more  today  than  you  had  to  and  I  will  always  be  grateful…”</p><p>A  powerful  hand  came  to  rest  on  the  back  of  your  neck.  Pushing,  nay,  guiding  you  towards  the  kitchen  table.  </p><p>“What  did  I  say  about  ridiculous  things  coming  out  of  your  mouth?”</p><p>Yeah,  he  had  not  been  too  pleased  last  time  you’d  said  something  you  deemed  appropriate  but  he  did  not.  And  like  last  time,  you  found  yourself  getting  maneuvered  around  to  his  whim  and  in  all  honesty,  it  was  far  from  bothersome.</p><p>Steve  guided  you  over  to  a  chair  and  plopped  down,  before  quite  literally  pulling  you  onto  his  lap  Santa  Claus  style.</p><p>“I’m  not  going  anywhere,  so  we  need  to  discuss  a  few  things  because  this  isn’t  going  to  work  for  me  anymore,  not  with  the  way  that  things  stand.”</p><p>And…you  had  no  idea  what  to  say.  None.  Not  only  because  you  hadn’t  slept  in  a  god-awful  amount  of  time  and  were  wide  awake,  wondering  what  on  earth  he  could  be  talking  about.  Now  was  the  absolute  perfect  time  for  him  to  head  for  the  hills.  In  fact,  you  would  totally  understand.</p><p>“This  is  where  you  say…”</p><p>Oh,  right.</p><p>You  knew  what  he  was  wanting  to  hear  and  as  you  settled  onto  the  slightly  uncomfortable  lap  beneath  you,  you  answered.  “Yes,  right.  What  exactly  is  the  problem?  Sir?”</p><p>Like  you  didn’t  already  know,  but  you  were  willing  to  play  along.</p><p>Clearly  he’d  been  giving  this  some  thought,  because  you  were  mildly  surprised  when  Steve  came  right  out  and  informed  you.  “That  no  sleepover  rule  has  to  go.  Obviously,  your  little  foray  into  the  world  of  food  service  is  over  too.  I  don’t  even  want  to  think about  how  you  managed  to  keep  this  under  wraps,  while  waiting  tables  and  while  we’re  at  it,  this  place  is  too  small  and  has  no  privacy.  We’re  going  to  have  to  find  you  all  a  new  place…preferably  in  Brooklyn.”</p><p>And  all  thoughts  of  Steve  hightailing  it  for  the  hills  were  gone.  Poof.  You  were  sitting  straighter  with  growing  indignity,  a  hand  coming  down  on  his  shoulder  to  balance  yourself.  An  incredibly  broad  and  warm  shoulder,  mind  you.</p><p>“Steve…”</p><p>“Was  I  done  talking?”</p><p>Chastened,  you  blinked,  you  nodded,  more  salted  than  anything  at  his  tone,  also  maybe  stirring  up  a  little  something  inside  of  you.  “Forgive  me.  Please  go  on  Sir.  I’d  hate  for  you  to  lose  your  train  of  thought.”</p><p>If  he  was  at  all  bothered  by  your  sass,  no  indication  was  given  on  his  face.</p><p>Steve’s  response  was  another  matter  entirely.  “If  you  don’t  have  anything  helpful  to  add,  I  can  provide  your  mouth  with  a  far  more  useful  task.”  His  hand  came  to  rest  practically  platonically  on  your  knee  afterward.  “I’ll  see  what  I  can  find  out  about  this  school.  There  are  no  other  surprises?  You  don’t  have  anything  else  you  need  to  tell  me?”</p><p>Unable  to  help  yourself  in  the  least,  you  fingered  the  cotton  shirt  he  had  on  that  was  now  dirty  and  sweaty  from  his  day  and  looking  pretty  darn  good,  if  you  did  say  so  yourself.  Obviously,  you  were  exhausted.  That  had  to  be  it.  That  had  to  be  why  his  lap  was  feeling  more  comfortable,  why  you  were  feeling  more  relaxed  than  you’d  felt  in  days  it  seemed.  “Oh?  You  want  me  to  use  my  mouth  to  talk  now?  How  precious.”</p><p>Because  he  was,  because  every  last  bit  of  him  was  precious  and  you  snaked  your  fingers  up  to  brush  through  the  soft  bristles  of  his  trim  beard.  A  single  remark  from  you  had  led  to  this  new  addition.  It  did  not  escape  you,  how  much  influence  you  possessed  over  this  man.</p><p>His  demands  didn’t  intimidate  you,  because  you  knew  you  had  power  over  him  too.</p><p>“Don’t  tease  me  or  try  and  distract  me.  I  think  it’s  safe  to  say  that  the  trial  period  between  us  is  now  over  and  done.  You  already  knew  about  me.  Now  I  know  about  you  and  we  can  build  on  this…the  proper  way.”</p><p>How  did  he  do  it?</p><p>How  could  he  make  you  feel  like  this  after  your  past  twelve,  twenty-four  hours?  </p><p>How  could  he  say  things  that  were  like  cold  water  to  your  face  while  your  blood  boiled?</p><p>“I  want  you  to  quit  your  job  and  take  some  time  off.  You  need  a  break.  You  can’t  focus  on  them  and  me  and  wait  tables  all  at  once  and  I’ll  admit  it,  I  can  be  demanding.”</p><p>He  could  be  demanding?</p><p>Here  he  was  demanding  you  quit  your  job  and  move  everyone,  to  include  the  blue  tailed  child,  all  the  way  over  to  Brooklyn.  He  was  demanding  things  that  made  you  feel  warm  and  fuzzy  inside,  not  because  you  didn’t  want  the  responsibility  or  because  you  couldn’t  do  it,  you  could,  you  could  keep  this  up  till  the  end  of  time.  No,  it  was  his  demand  of  you,  his  ordering  you  to  do  it,  in  the  same  way  he  had  earlier  asked  you  to  hold  the  boards  of  wood  flat,  or  asked  what  you  wanted  for  breakfast  and  where  the  plates  were  for  lunch.</p><p>“Sir…”  you  breathed,  tracing  your  fingertips  up  the  back  of  his  solid  neck,  into  his  soft  hair.  “That’s  a  big  step.  That’s  asking  a  lot  from  both  of  us  and  you  haven’t  even  told  me  how  you  feel  about  everyone  upstairs.”</p><p>Even  Steve  had  to  admit,  it  was  a  fair  summation  and  statement.  It  had  him  sinking  into  to  chair  as  if  finally  relaxing,  now  that  you  were  softening  up  after  everything  that  had  gone  on.  At  last  able  to  put  yourself  at ease  now  that  the  proverbial  dust  had  settled.  </p><p>“I’m  not  going  to  lie  to  you,”  he  admitted,  very  much  enjoying  how  your  fingers  played  with  his  hair  at  the  nape  of  his  neck.  “It  was  a  surprise.  It’s  a  lot  to  take  in.”</p><p>All  of  which  was  true.  Even  you  had  to  admit  it.</p><p>“But  I  like  it.  It  feels  right.  It  has  me  admiring  you  even  more.  Makes  me  want  you  even  more.  I  want  to  make  you  mine  in  every  way.  I  know  it’s  sudden.  I  know  you  have  been  let  down  and  hurt  before.  Give  me  a  chance.  It’s  all  I’m  asking  for,  let  me  take  care  of  you  and  be  mine  for  real  this  time.”</p><p> </p><p>						***</p><p> </p><p>Long  before  Steve  had  the  serum.  When  he  was  small  and  lived  in  a  shoebox  sized  apartment,  when  he  was  growing  up  and  dirt  poor,  he  had  never  once  slept  in  a  closet  and  for  the  life  of  him,  he  could  not  believe  he  was  doing  so  now.</p><p>On  tonight  of  all  nights  too.</p><p>Late  Saturday  night,  nay,  early  Sunday  morning,  after  you  had  agreed  to  given  him  a  chance  at  a  genuine  and  real  relationship,  where  he  would  take  care  of  you  and  your  every  need  and  wish,  where  he  would  have  the  future  with  you  to  build  and  grow  and  now,  having  finally  gotten  what  he  had  so  badly  wanted  over  the  past  few  months…he  was  wedged  into  a  closet.  Having  flat  out  refused  to  go  home  or  camp  out  solo  on  the  couch.</p><p>Granted,  it  was  a  spacious  closet  under  the  stairs.  Which  he  also  could  not  stand  up  in,  or  else  he’d  bang  his  head  again.</p><p>This  really  was  so  not  optimal.</p><p>And  that  was  how  he  wound  up  looking  at  property  in  Brooklyn  that  would  suit  his  needs,  as  you  slept  soundly  beside  him.  Long  legs  bent  so  he  could  fit  in  the  space  and  curled  up  with  you.  </p><p>At  least  it  was  comfortable.  You  had  more  than  enough  pillows  and  blankets  to  make  up  for  a  lack  of  space.</p><p>This  was  not  going  to  work  for  him.  It  was  most  certainly  too  small  of  a  space  and  not  just  because  of  all  the  people  who  slept  upstairs.</p><p>Around  four  in  the  morning  came,  and  Steve  knew  this  because  he  was  on  his  phone  looking  for  two  brownstones  side  by  side  that  were  for  sale.  That  seemed  like  it  would  be  more  than  enough  space.  One  for  him  and  one  for  all  of  you  with  a  door  in  between  somewhere  connecting  the  two.  A  few  minutes  after  four,  you  lurched  up  from  a  dead  sleep  and  Steve  would  admit,  you’d  caught  him  by  surprise.</p><p>Hands  reaching  up  to  push  hair  from  your  face.  Cocking  your  head  to  the  side  as  you  glanced  around,  looked  upwards,  spotted  him  lounged  out  in  your  sleeping  space,  bathed  in  the  glow  of  a  phone  and  watching  you  curiously.</p><p>“Did  I  hear  something?  Is  one  of  them  up?”</p><p>For  which  Steve  had  an  assuring  answer  for  you.  “No  princess.  They’re  all  still  asleep.  Come  here,  curl  up  with  me  and  go  back  to  sleep.”</p><p>An  arm  stretched  out  for  you  to  pull  you  close  against  him.</p><p>Neither  still  sleepy  or  out  of  it,  you  did  listen,  absolutely  convinced  you’d  heard  one  of  the  boys  jumping  up  on  his  bed.  Or  maybe  it  was  a  dream?  Could  you  possibly  have  been  imagining  such  naughty  behavior  in  your  sleep?  Then  again,  you  pondered,  curling  up  beside  Steve  and  his  completely  undressed  form  beneath  your  blankets,  because  he  apparently  slept  in  the  nude,  you  weren’t  about  to  beat  yourself  up  over  it.  You’d  had  a  stressful  day.  It  probably  wasn’t  out  of  the  realm  of  possible  that  you  had  a  few  drops  of  left-over  adrenaline  zinging  around  in  the  old  bloodstream.</p><p>Going  back  to  sleep  sounded  good  though.  It  sounded  right.</p><p>Steve’s  words  had  you  flinging  an  arm  over  the  vast  expanse  of  his  chest  and  burrowing  your  face  against  his  warm  smooth  shoulder.  Smelling  what  was  most  definitely  him  and  your  scented  bodywash. </p><p>Settling  back  in,  you  were  curling  up  against  him  even  more.  Smoothing  your  palm  over  more  of  his  side  and  stomach.  Closing  your  eyes.  Finding  comfort  in  his  body,  every  inch  of  it.  Taut.  Muscular.  Never  had  you  ever  been  with  anyone  this  well  built  or  defined.  Had  Steve  not  spent  a  significant  amount  of  time  detailing  how  much  he  loved  your  body,  you  may  have  felt  a  little  bad.  Although  you  could  understand  his  point,  how  he  so  vehemently  declared  his  love  for  how  soft  and  perfect  you  were  against  him,  over  him,  surrounding  him.  Who  were  you  to  argue?  Especially  when  he  would  never  be  able  to  convince  you  that  his  body  wasn’t  your  own  personal  wonderland.</p><p>In  your  bed,  so  comfortable  and  safe,  in  Steve’s  arms,  your  hand  wandered  down  to  find  his  shaft.  Soft  hair  led  the  way  down  into  trimmed  pubic  hair  and  down  to  a  smooth  sac  that  your  hand  immediately  went  to.  </p><p>You  loved  his  balls.  Steve  had  a  pair  of  big  globes  that  hung  heavy  and  you  could  never  get  enough  of  them.  Touching  them.  Putting  them  in  your  mouth.  Feeling  the  smooth  skin  had  you  wiggling  down  before  you  could  think  twice,  say  a  word.  Bless  him,  Steve  was  silent.  He  watched  you.  Shaded  in  the  dim  glow  of  your  salt  lamp,  his  profile  watched  you  slink  down  to  between  his  thick  thighs.</p><p>Steve  watched  you  push  his  dick  aside  for  the  moment  to  focus  on  his  balls.  Taking  them  so  eagerly  in  your  mouth.  Sending  his  head  back  onto  some  pillows.  A  moan  came  from  his  chest.  You  mouth  was  so  wet  and  so  hot  and  so  goddamn  perfect.</p><p>Using  your  tongue,  you  played  with  them  in  your  mouth.  You  hummed  and  didn’t  swallow  at  all,  allowing  yourself  to  become  wet  and  messy  with  saliva.</p><p>Having  been  only  semi-hard  before,  it  did  not  take  long  for  Steve’s  dick  to  get  hard.  It  wasn’t  long  before  your  hands  were  tight  around  his  testicles  and  your  tongue  was  running  up  the  length  of  him.  Tracing  veins  that  ran  from  root  to  tip.  Sinking  down  over  his  mushroom  head  as  far  as  you  possible  could  with  that  messy  mouth.</p><p>“Feel  so  good,”  he  hissed.</p><p>Not  that  he  was  wrong.  His  cock  felt  so  good  in  your  other  hand,  in  your  mouth,  against  your  tongue.  Feeling  like  velvet  steel  in  your  grasp.  Holding  him  at  the  base  where  his  dark  gold  hair  tickled  your  hand,  you  sank  your  head  down  further,  till  he  touched  the  back  of  your  throat.  Earning  a  taste  of  something  salty  and  slimy.  Pre-cum.  </p><p>“Your  mouth  always  feels  so  damn  good.”</p><p>A  hand  touched  your  head.  Fingers  sank  into  your  hair.  Further  down  you  were  pushed  as  his  hips  jerked,  as  he  fought  the  urge  to  fuck  your  mouth.  Making  you  moan  out  encouragingly.  Merely  the  thought  of  having  Steve  fuck  your  mouth  was  enough  to  get  you  wet.  Thinking  of  him  using  you  for  his  pleasure,  taking  what  he  wanted  from  his  good  little  girl.  For  a  fact  you  knew  your  panties  would  be  soaked  in  no  time.</p><p>Encouraging  noises  came  from  you.  </p><p>In  one  hand  you  massaged  his  sac.  In  your  other,  you  gripped  him  hard  as  possible,  knowing  Steve  liked  to  be  held  firmly.  Moaning  as  wantonly  as  you  could  each  time  his  hips  bounced  up,  you  were  elated  at  his  hand  tightened  in  your  hair,  pushing  you  down  in  time  with  his  hips.  </p><p>His  tip  hit  the  back  of  your  throat.  Your  tongue  smoothed  over  his  cock  bottom  and  sides  longingly.  Pubic  hair  tickled  your  nose  and  he  still  didn’t  fit  his  entire  length  in  your  mouth.</p><p>“Gonna  come,  close…you  wanna  take  it?  Want  it  in  your  mouth?  In  your  pretty  tummy?  Princess’ll  take  what  Daddy  gives  her  now?  Won’t  she?”</p><p>Jesus  Christ  in  heaven  above,  you  could  smell  yourself.  You  were  so  turned  on  you  could  smell  it.  You  could  feel  it  running  down  your  thigh.  And  what  the  hell  were  you  going  to  do?  Pull  off  and  say  no?</p><p>Nodding  came  from  you.  Moaning  and  as  much  as  you  could  manage  around  his  thick  cock,  you  cried  out  “yes”  several  times.  Pleading  with  your  eyes.  Hoping  you  looked  as  depraved  and  cock  hungry  as  you  were  with  half  to  three  quarters  of  his  dick  in  your  mouth  between  thrusts.  Drool  dripping  from  your  lips,  down  your  neck.  Saliva  smeared  all  over  your  mouth  and  chin.</p><p>Steve  swore  but  you  felt  him  twitch  in  your  mouth  right  before.</p><p>In  hot  squirts  he  came  in  your  mouth.  Hitting  the  back  of  your  throat  where  his  crown  was  pressed  and  you  did  your  absolute  best  to  swallow  every-thing  he  gave  you.  Desperately  he  pushed  into  your  mouth  to  come  deeper,  like  he  did  when  he  came  inside  of  your  pussy.</p><p>There  was  so  much.</p><p>Steve  came  a lot.</p><p>When  you  couldn’t  swallow  enough,  warm  cum  began  to  fill  your  mouth,  infuse  your  sense  of  taste  and  smell,  puddle  out  as  his  pushed  himself  against  you  in  release.  Balls  slapped  against  your  chin  wetly.  Swears  and  gasps  came  from  Steve.  Filling  you  with  pride  and  power  that  you  could  do  this  to  such  a  powerful  man.</p><p>Cum  began  to  drip  onto  his  thigh  and  that  was  when  Steve  pulled  back,  pulled  out  of  your  mouth,  still  ejaculating  and  even  more  turned  on  by  the  sight  of  your  mouth  full  of  his  spend,  your  tongue  and  lips  searching  for  his  member.  Still  climaxing  all  over  his  thighs  and  your  sheets,  he  kissed  you.  Steve  wrapped  a  muscular  arm  around  your  shoulders  to  pull  you  against  him.  Buried  his  tongue  in  your  mouth  against  yours,  so  he  too  could  have  a  taste  of  you  mixed  with  him.  Salty  and  primal  and  wet.  </p><p>He  kissed  you  till  your  mouth  knew  what  to  do,  when  your  brain  finally  clicked  over  from  his  dick  to  his  lips,  allowing  you  to  melt  against  him.  Letting  you  share  what  kisses  you  could.  When  his  slippery  lips  were  on  yours.  When  he  wasn’t  licking  your  mouth  and  chin  clean  of  your  saliva  and  his  own  release.  </p><p>Licking  and  sucking  your  lips  and  skin  and  tongue,  growling  at  how  you  tasted  like  the  very  essence  of  him.  Pulling  you  close  up  on  the  pillows  with  him.</p><p>Pulling  you  against  him.  Your  back  to  his  front,  big  spoon  to  little  spoon.  Assuming  the  big  spoon  ever  reached  down  into  the  little  spoons  panties.  If  the  big  spoon  ever  sank  fingers  into  the  little  spoons  drenched  pussy.</p><p>“Such  a  good  girl.  Getting  this  wet  from  sucking  my  cock.  This  all  because  you  like  sucking  on  Daddy’s  cock  and  balls?  Like  having  my  cum  on  your  face  and  neck?  Marking  you  up  as  mine?  Showing  every  one  you  belong  to  me?”</p><p>A  squeal  came  from  you  because  Steve  sucked  on  your  neck,  sank  in  his  teeth  and  twisted  your  clit  before  sinking  his  fingers  in  deep,  pushed  them  into  your  opening.  </p><p>“Close  your  eyes.  Go  back  to  sleep.  I’ll  make  you  feel  good  in  the  morning,  like  the  best  girl  you  are  for  me.  My  best  girl.”</p><p>Like  you  could  fall  asleep  after  that.</p><p>It  was  ridiculous  was  what  it  was.  Although,  you  had  to  admit,  having  Steve’s  body  over  you  and  his  long  fingers  up  in  you,  between  your  wet  thighs…his  wet  mouth  on  your  neck.  So  good.  It  felt  so  good  you  were  nodding  off  before  you  knew  it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Sleeping over</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>:::Authors Note:::</p><p>We wanted to thank everyone for their wonderful support of this project we have begun! We're taking a short break after part one to finish a couple projects and start work on Part Two. Be sure to keep your eyes peeled in a week or two for the next installment in this SugarDaddy tale!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sleep  didn’t  come  to  Steve  for  that  night.  Which  wasn’t  unusual.  However,  without  his  usual  stack  of  books  on  his  nightstand,  or  his  computer,  his  options  for  productivity  were  limited.  Leading  to  further  scouring  of  property  listings  on  his  phone.  Plus,  a  well-worn  book  he  found  in  the  mess  that  was  your  bed.  <em>Percy  Jackson  and  the  Lightning Thief</em>.  For  a  little  over  an  hour,  Steve  found  himself  reading  the  book  by  the  light  of  your  salt  lamp.  The  only  source  of  dim  light  in  the  closet  that  he  was  so  uncomfortably  stuffed  into.</p><p>And  just  when  he  thought  he’d  finally  gotten  through  the  no  sleepover  rule.</p><p>It  was  ridiculous  was  what  it  was.  Cramped  up  in  a  under  the  staircase  closet.  Of  all  the  things  that  he  could  have  imagined  being  the  reason  why  you  wouldn’t  stay  at  his  apartment,  or  let  him  visit  you,  never  would  he  have  even  come  close  to  the  actual  truth.</p><p>Something  was  going  to  have  to  change.  Drastically.  His  apartment  wasn’t  big  enough  for  everyone,  nor  could  you  parade  Kurt  through  the  city  all  the  way  to  Brooklyn.  Considering  everything  that  he  wanted  to  do  with  you  or  to  you,  Steve  was  going  to  need  some  additional  space  and  privacy.</p><p>More  than  your  little  nook  would  provide  and  not  that  he  didn’t  salute  you  for  your  selflessness,  ensuring  that  everyone  else  had  a  bed  and  a  room.  He  would  have  done  the  same  thing.  God  did  he  want  to  do  things  to  you  though.  There  were  so  many  things  he  wanted  from  you,  with  you,  to  give  you,  share  with  you.  So  much  more.</p><p>For  a  few  days,  a  week  or  two  more,  this  would  be  fine.</p><p>Sometime  over  Sunday,  he’d  go  back  to  his  apartment  to  grab  a  few  things.  He’d  pack  a  bag.  Do  a  few  things  and  then  come  back  here.</p><p>Steve  swore  he  could  hear  Nat  laughing  at  him  throughout  the  night.</p><p>It’d  been  a  month.  Barely.  And  here  he  was,  already  thinking  about  the  future,  planning,  researching.  She  would  have  found  it  beyond  amusing.</p><p>Steve  had  never  done  anything  halfway.  Ever.  Why  should  this  be  different?</p><p>When  he  and  Nat  built  the  team  and  trained  them,  they’d  done  so  together  and  fully  dedicated  their  lives  to  it.  Living  and  breathing  and  becoming  Avengers.</p><p>When  he  had  joined  SHIELD,  he  had  fully  thrown  himself  into  that  new  life  without  a  single  bit  of  hesitation.  It  was  all  he  could  do  and  focus  on,  bringing  himself  up  to  date  with  the  modern  world  and  training.  </p><p>Even  after  he’d  gotten  the  Serum  and  the  Army  made  him  the  puppet  for  war  bonds,  he’d  done  his  part  till  he  found  a  way  to  fully  devote  himself  to  ending  the  war.</p><p>Everything  Steve  had  done  during  his  life,  he’d  fully  given  himself  over  to.  When  he  and  Sam  and  Nat  were  fugitives.  When  he’d  taken  the  Infinity  Stones  back  to  return  them  all.  Everything  he’d  ever  done.</p><p>Why  would  this  be  any  different?  Besides,  he  was  tired  of  waiting.  Steve  was  not  about  to  let  this  slip  through  his  fingers.  You  made  him  feel  things.  You  made  him  feel  good.  You  made  him  feel  alive.  You  made  him  feel  excited.  You  filled  him  with  this  little  thing  called  hope  that  seemed  to  drive  away  the  dark  guilt  that  had  dug  in  beneath  his  skin,  reminding  him  so  often  that  he  was  still  unworthy,  still  not  good  enough.</p><p>A  few  chapters  away  from  being  done  with  the  book  that  obviously  belonged  to  Kurt,  based  on  the  scratch  marks  on  pages  and  the  cover,  you  shifted  in  your  sleep.</p><p>Over  the  past  hour  or  so,  your  breathing  hadn’t  been  so  deep.  You’d  begun  to  move  around  more.  Your  sleeping  was  shifting  into  a  different  cycle.  </p><p>Soon  you  would  wake  up  but  Steve  had  decided  to  let  you  sleep  as  long  as  possible.</p><p>Plus,  he  was  reading  and  his  phone  was  charging.  Steve  was  more  than  occupied.</p><p>Curled  up  back  against  his  nude  form,  you  pushed  against  his  thighs  and  reached  out  for  a  pillow  that  you  pulled  to  your  chest.  Making  Steve  pause  to  watch  you.  You  were  very  much  sleeping.  Unaware  of  what  you  were  doing.  Totally  not  realizing  how  you  felt  moving  the  curve  of  your  body  against  him.  You  had  no  idea  you  were  doing  it,  Steve  reminded  himself.  Wearing  a  baggy  t-shirt  paired  with  a  pair  of  boy-shorts,  it  was  hardly  attire  that  oozed  sex.  </p><p>Although  it  might  as  well  have  been  all  things  considered.</p><p>Against  his  thigh  rested  his  morning  erection.  Solid.  Heavy.  Aching  from  the  abrasiveness  of  the  soft  fabric  covering  your  bottom,  which  pushed  into  his  member.  Rubbing  it  back  against  his  legs.</p><p>One  page  before  the  end  of  the  book,  your  legs  kicked  out.  Your  feet  dug  under  blankets.  Back  your  ass  bumped  into  his  groin,  sending  the  book  that  he  was  now  done  with  over  his  shoulder  to  finish  up  later.  Now  simply  unable  to  help  himself.  Unable  to  keep  his  hands  to  himself.  Not  with  the  amount  of  your  moving  around  and  you’d  been  asleep  more  than  long  enough,  Steve  reasoned.</p><p>Resting  a  hand  on  your  waist,  he  pushed  himself  up  against  the  covered  curve  of  your  cheeks.  So  plump  and  lush  against  his  hardness.</p><p>A  noise  came  from  you  in  unknowing  response.  </p><p>Steve  did  it  again.  Rubbed  up  against  you  with  a  bit  more  pressure  to  give  him  some  friction.  Between  the  fabric  rubbing  over  his  bare,  overly  sensitive  organ,  paired  with  the  softness  of  you,  how  warm  you  were  and  the  little  noises  that  came  from  you  as  you  began  to  stir…it  was  the  best  kind  of  hell.</p><p>Mumbles  tumbled  from  your  lips.</p><p>Sleepily,  you  lifted  a  hand,  eyes  barely  open  if  that,  as  you  reached  back  and  peered  behind.  If  you  had  any  idea  what  came  from  your  mouth,  Steve  would  have  been  stunned.  In  the  dim  light  of  your  space  so  early  that  morning,  you  mumbled  out.  “…Daddy  whut’s  wrong…”</p><p>Followed  by  a  little  frown.  A  wetting  of  your  lip  with  your  little  tongue.</p><p>If  he  thought  he’d  been  hard  before,  he  was  even  harder  now.  Hearing  ‘Daddy’  come  from  your  sleepy  lips  made  his  balls  tighten  something  fierce.  And  here  he  thought  there’d  be  nothing  that  could  top  the  mess  you  had  made  last  night,  when  you’d  given  him  the  best  oral  sex  he’d  ever  had  in  his  life.  The  suddenness  of  it  had  caught  him  by  surprise.  Being  unable  to  think  it  through  or  plan  had  allowed  him  to  lie  back  and  take  it,  enjoy  it,  be  in  the  moment.  Kissing  you  with  your  mouth  full  of  his  cum,  it  dripping  down  your  face  and  smeared  over  your  chin  and  mouth  had  been  something  he  did  in  the  moment,  brain  fuzzy,  acting  on  instinct  alone  and  made  him  now  feel  wet  arousal  bead  on  his  tip,  smudge  sticky  marks  over  his  bare  thigh.</p><p>Daddy.</p><p>Half-awake  and  not  fully  aware  of  anything,  you’d  called  him  that.  How  could  he  do  nothing?  Say  nothing?  Not  lean  down  to  press  kisses  along  your  jaw  and  cheek  and  neck.  “Nothings  wrong  sweetie.  You’re  wiggling  against  Daddy.  Making  Daddy  even  harder.  Feel  that?”  Another  push  against  you  was  rewarded  with  the  most  delicious  noise  from  you.  A  moan.  An  appreciative  moan.  “Feel  how  hard  Daddy  is?”</p><p>Dropping  back  down  against  your  pillows,  you  moaned,  nodded,  “Mmmhmmm.  Yes  Daddy.  So  hard  Daddy.”</p><p>You  were  awake.</p><p>Your  words  weren’t  slurred  anymore.  No  longer  was  your  voice  thick  with  sleep,  it’d  worn  off  a  bit.</p><p>Pushing  hair  back  off  his  forehead,  Steve  wanted  more.  Steve  wanted  it  all.  His  voice  took  on  a  rougher  edge  from  his  growing  arousal.  Heart  pounding  violently  in  his  chest  at  the  sight  and  sensation  of  you  rolling  over,  rolling  onto  your  back,  pushing  your  panties  down  your  hips  to  kick  off.  “My  girl  wants  to  feel  good?  Wants  me  to  eat  this  perfect  little  pussy?”</p><p>Scooting  up  in  your  pillows,  you  nodded  that  you  most  definitely  wanted  Steve  to  do  that,  to  say  these  things  to  you,  to  treat  you  this  way  in  bed.  Waking  up  to  him  rubbing  what  felt  like  rebar  between  your  ass  cheeks  and  calling  himself  Daddy.  Fuck.  You’d  been  dreaming  about  it.  You’d  had  it  on  your  mind.  Now,  could  it  really  be  happening?  Was  Steve  Rogers,  formerly  Captain  America  himself,  the  one  male  who  could  fulfill  this  deep  dark  roleplay  longing  you  kept  to  yourself?  Him?  Yeah,  you  could  hardly  believe  it  either.  Yet  here  you  were,  in  the  near  darkness  of  your  bedroom  closet,  seeing  the  sheer  muscles  of  a  perfect  male  form  bathed  in  a  soft  glow  from  your  Target  splurge  purchase  kneel  down  between  your  thighs.  Plop  his  large  body  down  between  your  limbs  to  get  close  to  your  most  intimate  of  places.  Speak  to  you  like  that  and  it  felt  so  right.  </p><p>It  was  safe  with  Steve.  </p><p>He  wouldn’t  make  fun  of  you,  or  laugh  at  you,  tell  you  that  you  were  sick  and  twisted  for  wanting  this  in  bed.  </p><p>You  could  say  these  things  with  Steve.  Hell,  he  wanted  you  to  say  these  things  to  him,  for  real.</p><p>Scooting  back  till  your  shoulders  rested  against  the  wall,  you  worried  your  lower  lip  between  your  teeth.</p><p>“Princess?  Take  off  your  shirt  for  me.  Let  me  see  how  beautiful  are  you.  Can  you  do  that  for  me?”</p><p>Jesus  Christ  did  he  take  up  so  much  space  in  your  bed.  It  made  your  chest  swell.  It  was  breathtaking  at  the  same  time.  In  that  low  light  you  could  see  his  strong  bone  structure.  A  powerful  jaw  and  prominent  nose,  such  expressive  eyes  watching  you  closely,  so  pointedly.</p><p>How  could  you  say  no?  And  risk  letting  him  down?  Never.</p><p>With  fingers  that  trembled  in  excitement,  you  tugged  the  well-worn  shirt  over  your  head  to  expose  yourself  fully.</p><p>“Perfect.”  Steve  hummed,  pressing  soft  kisses  along  the  soft  skin  of  your  inner  thigh.  Beard  brushing  over  you  too,  as  if  it  were  an  afterthought  of  his  body  holding  onto  yours.  “Such  a  good  girl  for  me.  Letting  me  have  this  beautiful  pussy.”  Using  fingers  that  had  done  so  much,  Steve  so  carefully  pulled  you  open.  Like  you  were  some  sort  of  precious  treasure  that  he  was  getting  into  for  the  first  time.  Broad  shoulders  and  an  expansive  back  that  went  on  for-seemingly-ever  rippled  as  he  made  himself  comfortable.  God  there  was  just  so  friggin  much  of  him  and  he  was  yours,  all  yours,  making  you  nearly  gasp  at  the  realization  of  where  you  were  and  who  you  were  with  and  it  still  took  your  breath  away.  Here,  with  him,  just  the  two  of  you.  It  was  safe  with  only  you  and  him  and  the  things  that  you  both  did  together.  With  anyone  else  it  would  have  felt  different.  With  anyone  else,  you  wouldn’t  have  felt  secure  or  confident,  or  safe  enough  to  let  this  part  of  you  out.</p><p>In  parting  you  open,  he  let  out  a  deep  rumbly  noise  that  had  you  feeling  so  exposed.  “Look  at  how  wet  you’re  getting  for  me.  Hold  your  legs  open  for  me  precious  girl.  Show  me  how  pretty  you  are.  Show  me  everything  that  belongs  to  me.”</p><p>Had  those  words  come  from  anyone  else,  they  would  have  felt  completely  different.  </p><p>Wanting  to  listen,  wanting  to  be  Steve’s  precious  girl  and  to  show  him  everything  that  was  his,  your  hands  hooked  under  your  knees  to  pull  yourself  open  in  what  could  have  easily  been  an  obscene  way.  Answering  him  in  a  shaky  voice.  So  vulnerable  as  you  explored  this  new  feature  in  your  growing  relationship,  in  your  evolving  sex  life.  Like  petals  on  a  flower  that  had  slowly  been  opening,  one  at  a  time,  over  the  past  few  weeks  to  finally  expose  this  inside  part.  “Like  this?  Daddy?”</p><p>Steve’s  mouth  was  on  you.</p><p>It  was  wet.  His  bread  tickled  the  flushed  swollen  skin  of  your  sex  and  you  let  out  this  gasping  noise  at  the  sensation  of  his  tongue  and  lips.  A  hum  of  approval  came  that  thickened  your  very  blood.</p><p>Exactly  like  that,  it  felt  like  you  grew  more  and  more  perfect  for  him  with  every  damn  passing  second.  Opening  yourself  up  for  him  in  every  possible  way  that  weekend.  And  he  would  treasure  it.  Steve  would  treasure  you.  He  would  keep  and  honor  and  pleasure  you  in  every  way  that  he  could  and  knew  how.  You  were  his  girl.  You  were  his  woman.  You  were  a  very  special  soul  that  fit  a  very  unique  part  of  him  that  no  other  person  could  dream  up,  or  even  come  close.</p><p>On  his  face  was  your  wetness.  Growing  slick  with  your  arousal  from  words  and  feelings  alone  before  he  even  touched  you.  Knowing  that  you  were  like  this  from  that  alone  filled  Steve  with  satisfaction.  A  gratefulness  too.  Even  something  that  might  have  bordered  on  a  contentment.  Finally,  Steve  had  found  you.  Finally,  he  had  found  what  was  missing.  Finally,  he  could  see  why  it  hadn’t  worked  in  the  past  with  other  women  that  he  cared  about  deeply,  respected  and  wanted.  </p><p>This  hadn’t  been  there,  this  connection  that  lurked  down  on  a  base  level  of  human  nature,  demanding  something  specific  for  his  individual  sexual  arousal.</p><p>Sinking  down  into  you.  Dragging  his  tongue  along  every  last  inch  of  you.  Stroking  your  clit  with  the  tip  of  his  tongue,  rolling  it  between  his  lips.  Even  tracing  your  slit  with  the  utmost  reverence.  He  took  his  time.  Steve  savored  every  soft  noise  you  made,  intentionally  or  otherwise.  Suckled  onto  your  clit.  Pushed  a  digit  up  into  you  in  order  to  curl  his  finger  and  stroke  until  your  toes  began  to  curl,  till  you  attempted  to  pull  your  legs  together  and  draw  inward.</p><p>And  that  was  an  absolute  no.</p><p>Resulting  in  Steve  resting  his  palms  on  your  hips  to  push  them  open,  spread  you  out  before  him  even  more  so.</p><p>A  sharp  intake  of  breath  came  from  you.  “M’close  sir…”</p><p>Pleased,  he  hummed,  curled  a  second  finger  into  you  to  double  the  sensation  on  that  sensitive  wall  of  tissue.  That  most  special  of  spots.</p><p>“…please,”  you  began  to  whine,  then  plead.  “Ste…Mister  Rogers?”</p><p>Out  popped  your  clit  wetly.  Your  eyes  connected  with  his  in  the  soft  lighting  and  you  could  still  see  the  twinkle.  “Mister  Rogers?  Really  sweetness.  Do  I  look  like  a  Mister  to  you?”</p><p>He  was  taunting  you.  Teasing  you.  Drawing  his  tongue  flat  through  your  pussy  without  remorse.  Flicking  his  tongue  over  your  clit.  Stroking  up  inside  of  you  with  the  perfect  amount  of  firm-fingered  roughness  that  you  preferred.</p><p>From  deep  within  you  keened  and  sank  your  hands  into  the  pillows  you  were  seated  on.  Nodded  incessantly,  you  gasped  in  deep  lung  fulls  of  air,  cause  you  didn’t  know  if  you’d  be  able  to  breathe  again  in  a  few  seconds  as  he  stroked  you  so  wickedly.</p><p>“Only…only  in  khakis…”</p><p>It  amused  him.  Hearing  you  gasp  that  out.  Mouth  gaping,  eyes  upwards,  hands  gripping  as  your  body  climbed  higher  and  higher  towards  sweet  release.  Rather  greedily,  Steve  buried  his  tongue  inside  of  you,  alongside  his  fingers  that  penetrated.  In  order  to  taste  you.  In  order  to  feel  inside  of  you.  In  order  to  watch  the  realization  come  over  your  face,  of  what  he  was  doing.  Stretching  his  tongue  out  to  smooth  around  you  before  swiping  it  up  through  your  now  slippery  folds.  “Mmmm,  well,  you  see,  the  solution  to  that,  my  sweetest  girl,  would  be  to  give  you  a  sound  hard  fuck  in  those  Mister  Rogers  clothes.  Would  you  like  that?  Would  you  like  Mister  Rogers  to  come  play  with  you  when  you’re  being  particularly  bad?”</p><p>Oh  god  did  you  ever.</p><p>More  nodding.  Extra  nodding.  All  of  the  nodding,  till  you  were  sure  you’d  make  yourself  dizzy.</p><p>Wet  noises  came  from  between  your  thighs  and  you  were  close,  so  very  very  close.  You  twisted  and  tightened,  squirmed  against  his  squishy  mouth  and  wet  face.</p><p>“Be  a  good  girl  for  Daddy  and  use  your  words.”</p><p>Thinking  of  Steve  in  those  khaki  pants  that  really  did  nothing  for  him,  being  rough,  fucking  you  hard,  bending  you  over  something  and  pummeling  into  you  with  fingers  in  your  hair  all  tight…it  flashed  through  your  head  in  a  frequent  thought  that  you  had  about  him,  just  never  before  in  those  khakis  and  you  were  coming,  spasming  on  his  face,  crying  out  with  eyes  full  of  hot  tears.  “Yes  sir.  Yes.  Yes  sir.  Please,  please…please…please…”</p><p>A  heat  scorched  you  down  low,  making  you  bite  your  lip,  so  as  not  to  scream  when  you  felt  Steve  push  his  face  against  you.  Or  when  he  curled  his  fingers  deeper  into  you,  reveled  in  the  orgasm  he  gave  you  as  your  thighs  shook  in  his  grip.</p><p>Giving  you  no  time  to  get  through  your  climax,  forget  come  down  from  it,  Steve  pulled  you  beneath  him.  Exerting  no  effort  at  all.  Pulling  you  down  by  your  thighs  and  positioning  himself  over  you.  A  hand  slipped  up  pushing  fingers  into  your  hair.  His  mouth  was  on  yours  and  you  were  crying  out  against  his  wet  lips  and  then  he  was  pushing  into  you.  Kissing  you  fiercely.  Soft  beard  soaked  with  you.  His  nose  covered  with  your  cum,  cheeks  too,  smearing  it  onto  your  face  and  chin.</p><p>A  push  of  his  hips  seated  him  further  into  you.  Pulling  a  noise  from  you  that  was  somewhere  between  surprise  and  pleasure  and  overabundance.  His  hand  that  had  been  inside  of  you,  covered  with  your  liquid  essence,  grabbed  your  wrists  to  pin  them  up  above  your  head.</p><p>“Look  at  me…look  at  me…”  he  encouraged  against  your  mouth.  Making  your  eyes  flutter  open  and  watch  him  look  down  at  you.  Gaze  at  dark  blue  in  your  crowded  dim  space.  Pieces  of  his  hair  brushed  over  your  forehead.  Slowly  he  impaled  you  on  his  cock.  Sank  in  bit  by  bit  while  you  squirmed  beneath  him  to  adjust,  widened  your  legs  and  tilted  your  hips  to  make  room.  Knowing  that  you  could  take  him  was  always  different  from  when  he  was  stuffing  you  full  of  his  organ.  “So  good.  So  damn  good  for  me.  Tell  me  how  it  feels.  Tell  Daddy  how  it  feels  to  be  full  of  him.”</p><p>And  you  could  barely  breathe.  His  breath  was  hot  against  your  face  as  more  of  his  girth  stretched  you  out,  pushed  deeper  into  your  core,  sank  even  further  into  you  where  no  one  else  had  ever  reached.  Splitting  you  in  half  to  make  one  out  of  you  both.</p><p>“Tell  me  and  I’ll  come  deep  inside  you.  Fill  you  up.  Make  sure  you’re  leaking  me  out  of  you  all  day  long.”</p><p>He  was  trying  to  make  you  come  again,  when  your  intimate  walls  were  already  twisting  around  his  erection  from  your  orgasm.  Without  a  doubt  he  would  too.  Steve  could  make  your  body  do  things  no  one  else  had  come  close  to,  yourself  included  on  a  few  of  them.  Without  a  doubt  he’d  fill  you  full  with  his  spunk.  So  full  you’d  be  leaking  it  most  the  day.  One  time  he  said  it  was  because  of  the  serum.  You  would  have  to  take  his  word  for  it.</p><p>Stretching  out  above  you,  your  arms  went  taught  and  framed  your  breasts  for  him,  as  if  offering  them  up.  Offering  you  up  on  a  silver  platter.</p><p>More  of  him  sank  in  very  near  to  the  root.  Pubic  hair  tickled  you  and  you  could  feel  his  body  brush  against  your  own  beneath  him.</p><p>“So  full…”  you  whispered  when  his  pelvis  slapped  against  you.  Fully  seated.  In.  Filling  you  full  of  him,  stuffing  you  beyond  your  brink.  “You  fill  me  so  much  I  can’t  breathe  or  think.  S’like  I’m  about  to  rip  apart  into  little  ribbons.  Burns  so  good.”</p><p>Not  that  it  was  a  surprise.  You  were  so  tight  around  him  it  felt  like  he  was  still  stretching  you  out  to  fit  in  you.  Steve  kissed  you.  Kissed  you  knowing  that  you  could  taste  yourself  on  his  face  and  lips  and  in  his  mouth  and  it  made  you  so  eager,  yes.  Just  yes.  He  sank  down  into  your  mouth  and  licked  against  your  tongue  before  pulling  off  so  he  could  feast  on  you.</p><p>Chaining  kisses  over  the  jiggly  flesh  of  each  twin  mound  topped  with  the  most  lush  nipples,  he  confessed.  “Could  spend  all  day  inside  of  this  tight  little  pussy.  Make  it  my  own.  Keep  filling  it  full  of  cum.  Feed  you  with  you  on  my  dick.  Work  with  you  on  my  dick.  Fill  you  so  full  of  my  cum  you  taste  like  me  for  days.  Lick  on  these  all  day,  suck  on  these  nipples  till  you  can’t  take  it  anymore.  Maybe  even  dress  you  up.  Would  Daddy’s  princess  like  that?”</p><p>Your  hungry  desperation  was  a  better  reward  than  all  the  gold  in  the  world.  Beneath  him  you  were  his  to  do  with  as  he  wished  and  the  simple  knowledge  that  it  was  as  much  of  a  turn-on  to  you  as  him,  it  was  restorative.  The  delicate  tissue  of  your  breast  in  his  mouth  would  be  marked  up  from  him,  both  of  your  nipples  taut  and  highly  sensitive  with  every  bite  and  suck,  making  your  throbbing  cunt  squeeze  him.  “Yes,  yes,  yes  please.  I  wanna  be  full  of  you.”  You  cried,  hissed,  shifted  up  beneath  him  to  hook  your  ankles  around  his  thighs.  All  so  you  could  be  even  more  full  of  him.  “Want  you  to  fill  me  up.  Spend  all  day  inside  me.  Feel  so  good  in  me.”</p><p>Against  your  ass  rested  his  heavy  sac.  Slowly,  methodically,  Steve  began  to  lift  his  pelvis  to  pull  out  a  small  amount  and  push  back  in,  smacking  his  sac  against  you,  making  them  bounce  against  the  lubrication  that  oozed  from  your  pussy  around  his  girth,  packed  so  tightly  in  you.</p><p>At  first  it  was  slow  going,  between  laving  attention  on  your  breasts  beneath  him,  leaving  them  wet  from  his  saliva  and  peppered  with  red  marks,  bites  and  round  circles  from  his  mouth.  Tormenting  your  pebbled  nipples  till  you  panted  and  cried  out  beneath  him.  Each  languid  pump  of  his  hips  merely  a  tease,  a  hint  at  what  you’d  come  to  expect.</p><p>“Hear  that,”  Steve  murmured  between  the  valley  of  your  tits.  Beard  scraping  along,  leaving  your  cum  over  his  own  wet  marks.  “Hear  how  wet  you  are?”  And  he  paused,  quieted  down,  gave  you  several  sound  pumps  of  his  pelvis  into  you  so  you  could  hear  how  shockingly  aroused  you  were,  wet  squelching  noises  came  from  down  low  that  you  knew  were  because  you  were  <em>that</em>  turned  on  from  him,  from  this,  all  of  this.  Each  thrust  in  hit  you  perfectly  and  made  the  most  obscene  noises.  “Do  you  know  how  good  you  feel  like  this?  How  amazing  you  feel  wrapped  around  my  cock?  I’ve  waited  my  whole  life  to  feel  this  good.”</p><p>His  attention  was  back  on  you.  Your  wet  chest  jiggled  beneath  him  as  Steve  propped  himself  up  on  the  arm  holding  your  hands  above  your  head,  snaking  his  other  hand  down  between  you  in  order  to  pick  up  a  steady  rut  of  his  hips.  Keeping  his  chest  up  above  you  allowed  you  to  take  in  every  last  inch  of  him,  allowing  him  to  fuck  you  in  earnest.  Pick  up  momentum.  Bounce  you  up  and  down  in  the  blankets  on  his  thick  member  and  filling  the  space  with  those  debauched  sucking  noises,  down  from  where  your  sex  organs  connected.</p><p>“Never  in  my  life  have  I  made  anyone  this  wet.  Never  come  like  this  into  anyone  either.  Usually  spill  all  of  this  on  the  shower  floor.  All  down  the  drain.  But  now…that  I  have  you,  my  best  girl,  you  get  it  in  this  beautiful  mouth  and  all  over  your  soft  skin  and  up  in  this  wet…”  a  particularly  powerful  thrust  slammed  up  against  you,  perfectly  in  on  the  way  to  your  cervix.  Sending  your  eyes  up  into  your  head.  “…wonderful  pussy…”  and  he  pulled  out  to  push  in  again,  roll  his  hips  to  get  in  at  a  better  angle,  a  deeper  angle.  “…a  greedy  one  too.  Milking  me.  Wanting  all  my  cum.  Feel  it?  Feel  how  you  clamp  down  on  me.  Think  your  body  is  thirsty  pretty  girl.”</p><p>Desperately,  maybe  even  frantically,  you  were  moving  up  against  him,  absolutely  out  of  your  mind  at  this  point  for  release,  for  a  climax,  for  Sir  to  make  you  feel  good  again.  Only  he  could  make  you  feel  this  good.  Good  it  would  be  too.  Powerful  thrusts  slapped  his  body  against  yours,  sending  his  erection  burrowing  deep  into  you,  lighting  you  up  each  time,  sending  his  balls  slapping  against  you.  Steve  was  losing  himself  in  you.  His  thrusts  were  gaining  speed.  His  powerful  body  was  shoving  you  into  the  bed  harder  and  back  further  each  time.  A  hand  wrapped  around  you  to  sink  into  a  fleshy  ass  cheek  and  pull  you  up  harder  into  him.  Rubbing  the  length  of  him  against  your  clit.  Each  vein  and  ridge  further  stimulation,  inside  and  out,  against  your  clit  and  g-spot.  His  sheer  size  made  it  easy  to  hit  both.</p><p>Between  your  bodies  sweat  began  to  smear.  Wet  sucking  sounds  continued  with  your  frenzied  fucking.  Nails  dug  into  your  palms.  </p><p>All  you  could  do  other  than  to  meet  each  blow  eagerly,  push  back,  arch  to  get  him  deeper  was  encourage  him,  beg  him,  demand  of  him.  “Harder.  Harder  sir.  Harder,  fuck  me  harder,  more,  more.  Sir!  Please,  Daddy,  harder.  More…more…”</p><p>And  it  was  done.  Gone.  Washing  over  you  in  a  drowning  wave  that  took  your  breath  away,  made  your  body  tremor  and  spasm  and  contort,  stealing  your  words  and  rendering  you  incapable  of  doing  anything  more  than  taking  it.  Never  in  your  life  had  you  climaxed  that  hard.</p><p>Distantly  you  were  aware  of  Steve  swearing,  growling,  clinging  to  your  body  and  grounding  his  cock  deeper  into  you.  Spilling  what  felt  like  the  entire  contents  of  his  balls  in  you.  Humping  against  you.  Shaking  and  trembling  as  he  clung  to  you  like  an  anchor  in  a  storm.</p><p>Your  pleasure  turned  your  body  liquid.  Sensations  had  you  arching  beneath  Steve,  rubbing  up  against  that  wall  of  muscle  that  was  his  chest  to  feel  even  better.  Contact.  Skin  on  skin  contact.  Tightening  your  grip  with  your  calves  helped  your  poor  little  vagina  take  the  brunt  of  that  storm.  She  tingled  and  was  so  sensitive  you  didn’t  dare  move,  not  with  how  tightly  your  cunt  was  wrapped  around  Steve’s  dick.  Deep  within  your  abdomen,  you  could  feel  your  walls  contorting  and  flexing.</p><p>Beneath  all  his  weight  you  floated.  Hardly  at  all  caring  when  the  bulk  of  him  sagged  down  on  you.  Not  squishing  you  completely,  but,  you  weren’t  going  anywhere.  No.  Not  for  a  while.  Especially  not  when  Steve  let  go  of  your  wrists.  Only  to  sink  his  hand  against  one  of  yours  and  entwine  your  fingers  together.  Naturally  you  mirrored  his  action  with  your  tingling  fingers.  Rolled  your  head  to  the  side  on  your  pillow.  Looking  into  his  face  that  had  fallen  on  the  same  pillow.</p><p>“Ok,”  you  conceded,  blowing  out  a  shaky  breath.  “Now  I  understand  your  issue  with  my  no  sleepover  rule.”</p><p>A  smirk  pulled  at  his  mouth.</p><p>That  mouth.</p><p>White  teeth  peeked  through  pink  swollen  lips  at  you.  “That’s  not  a  thing  anymore.  Used  my  executive  powers  to  strike  it  out.”</p><p>Not  that  you  were  going  to  argue.  Heavens  no.  Your  sexy  times  together  had  always  been  pretty  stellar,  if  you  did  say  so  yourself,  but  this,  this  little  coming  together  in  the  morning?  It  was  out  of  this  world  for  you  and  he  seemed  to  be  in  complete  agreement.  Merely  the  fact  that  he  hadn’t  faked  it  and  had  obviously  climaxed  made  you  feel  every  bit  a  sexual  creature  that  you  apparently  were.  “Oh?”  Unable  to  help  yourself  because  of  that  and  likely  a  myriad  of  happy  chemicals  zipping  around  in  your  body.  You  went  on,  taunting  your  SugarDaddy.  “Pretty  sure  of  yourself  first  thing  in  the  morning  when  you’re  balls  deep  inside  of  me?”</p><p>More  teeth  showed  as  his  smirk  grew  into  a  smile  and  he  curled  a  finger  at  you  to  come  closer.  As  if  that  were  even  possible.  A  few  inches  was  all  that  separated  your  faces  on  the  pillow  and  yet,  you  found  yourself  wiggling  closer,  were  rewarded  with  a  brush  of  his  lips  over  yours.  A  tickle  of  his  beard  on  your  chin  and  a  push  of  his  hips  up  into  yours,  to  be  sure  no  slippage  went  on  between  where  you  two  remained  deeply  connected.</p><p>Seeing  Steve  smile  like  that,  feeling  so  amazing  after  what  the  two  of  you  had  done…you  felt  kinda  bad  for  bringing  this  subject  up.  However,  you  had  just  had  the  absolute  best  sex  of  your  life  and  were  feeling  all  kinds  of  things,  to  include  vulnerable,  raw,  stripped  open.  “Is  this…all  this,  is  it  ok?  Are  you  ok  with  all  of  this?”  And  yeah,  you  really  should  have  asked  that  particular  question  before  letting  Steve  spend  the  night  and  most  definitely  prior  to  engaging  in  the  early  morning  delight.  Hindsight  being  what  it  was  and  never  really  having  been  something  you  were  ever  too  concerned  about…one  of  these  days  you  really  needed  to  get  your  shit  together.</p><p>Such  a  question  of  that  magnitude  should  have  been  asked  before  Steve’s  dick  was  resting  against  what  was  left  of  your  internal  organs.</p><p>And  you  almost  <em>almost</em>  regretted  asking.</p><p>“No,”  he  shook  his  head,  possessed  with  the  task  of  dragging  his  mouth  along  yours.  “No  this  whole  setup  has  got  to  go.  I  need  a  bed  in  a  real  room  with  a  lamp  not  made  of  salt  that  doesn’t  smell  funny.  We’ve  gotta  get  this  living  situation  sorted  out.  I’ve  already  emailed  the  realtor  I  used  to  find  my  apartment.”</p><p>Because  of  course  that  would  be  the  most  pressing  concern  for  a  male.  Therefore,  you  made  sure  your  expression  conveyed  how  little  you  were  amused  by  his  statement.</p><p>Clearly  he’d  been  pulling  your  leg,  because  he  pressed  his  lips  to  the  corner  of  your  mouth  and  wrapped  those  powerful  arms  around  you,  pulling  you  close,  closing  any  space  between  you  two  that  could  have  remained.  “No,  I  like  this  side  of  you.  Knowing  you  opened  your  heart  and  home  to  people  in  need  of  help  and  understanding…compassion.  Makes  me  want  to  take  care  of  you  even  more.  And  I  was  serious  about  you  quitting  your  job.  That  has  to  go.  I  want  to  do  this  for  real.”  What  with  the  month  being  over,  Steve  was  done  testing  the  waters.  Not  that  he  had  even  needed  that  entire  month  to  see  if  the  pair  of  you  were  compatible.  You’d  needed  it  though  and  if  that  was  what  you  needed,  he’d  give  you  another  month  in  a  heartbeat.</p><p>“Do  this  for  real?  What  would  that  be  like?”</p><p>What  you  said  hadn’t  been  what  he’d  expected  you  to  say.  However,  your  words  gave  him  a  swelling  of  hope.  A  possibility  at  a  future  that  he’d  convinced  himself  he  didn’t  deserve  and  still  didn’t.  That  didn’t  mean  Steve  wasn’t  about  to  rebel  against  his  own  self-imposed  prison  of  guilt.</p><p>Holding  you  close  as  possible,  he  shifted  down  in  an  attempt  to  get  comfortable.</p><p>It  wasn’t  like  he  hadn’t  thought  about  this  and  lacked  an  answer  for  you.  Steve  wanted  to  hold  you  close  for  as  long  as  possible.  Feel  you  softly  clenching  around  him  still.  Feel  your  damp  skin  cool  against  his  own.  Smell  your  messy  hair  so  close  to  his  nose.  Hear  the  sound  of  your  racing  heart  slowly  come  down  along  with  the  rest  of  your  body,  from  what  the  two  of  you  had  just  done  together.</p><p>“This  all  has  to  go.  We  need  more  space.  I  need  four  walls  of  a  real  room  and  an  actual  bed.  All  of  which  goes  without  being  said.  It’s  not  even  part  of  what  I  have  in  mind  for  us.”  Feeling  the  laughter  shake  your  body  against  his,  Steve  went  on,  encouraged  by  your  mirth.  “I  need  more  space.  A  place  that  can  hold  both  of  us,  plus  whoever  else  you  happen  to  take  in  with  open  arms  for  however  long.  I  don’t  want  to  hide  you  anymore.  I  want  to  take  you  out  officially  with  me.  I’m  buying  you  a  car  so  we  can  take  trips  around  and  out  of  the  city  with  Kurt.  Since  you  won’t  be  waiting  tables,  that’ll  free  up  your  days…”</p><p>A  hand  came  to  softly  rest  on  his  chest,  making  Steve  look  down  at  your  mildly  amused,  possibly  surprised,  maybe  even  somewhat  curious  and  skeptical  expression.  “Steve…”  you  sighed,  hesitating  as  you  gathered  your  thoughts.  “That’s  a  life.  Like,  a  life  together.  We’ve  only  known  each  other  a  month  and  you’ve  only  known  about  all  of  this  a  day.”</p><p>Which  had  been  exactly  what  he  feared,  expected  and  therefore  planned  to  counter  over  every  hour  he’d  thought  about  this  somewhat  exact  conversation.</p><p>“I  know.  I  want  something  more  than  dinner  and  a  movie  every  night  and  I  know  for  a  fact  that  you  do  too.  Or  else  we  wouldn’t  have  been  matched  up  on  that  website.”</p><p>The  expression  on  your  face  softened  a  little  and  he  knew  he’d  won.</p><p>“It  won’t  happen  overnight  either.  This’ll  take  time,  a  few  months  to  get  everything  done.  Starting  with  you  quitting  your  job.”</p><p>Again,  you  laughed  softly  at  his  insistence.  Drawing  your  free  hand  up  along  his  firm  chest  to  toy  with  your  bottom  lip.  Something  of  a  thoughtfully  nervous  gesture  you  sometimes  had,  “You’ve  got  a  real  hard  on  for  me  quitting  my  job,  huh?”  Not  that  you’d  disagree  with  his  sentiments.  Everything  he’d  mentioned  would  take  months  to  get  done.  And  yeah,  you  were  looking  for  something  considerably  more  than  dinner  and  a  movie  at  night  together.  </p><p>However,  in  your  desperation  for  cash,  you’d  never  once  even  thought  that  you’d  meet  someone  like  Steve  and  have  a  legit  connection  that  could  form  into  a  real  relationship.  A  relationship  that  would  be  with  someone  as  likeminded  as  yourself.  No  more  hiding,  no  more  pretending,  no  more  acting  like  things  were  perfect  and  lying  about  being  satisfied  or  fulfilled.  Not  having  to  fake  orgasms  anymore  was  going  to  be  great.</p><p>“There  are  so  many  more  productive  things  that  you  could  be  doing  during  the  day  instead  of  waiting  tables.  Like  research  into  this  school  with  me  and  Marie.  Going  back  to  college.  Keeping  that  baby  from  setting  things  on  fire.  My  schedule  is  all  over  the  place,  we  could  see  each  other  during  the  day.  Hell,  you  could  take  up  a  hobby  if  you  wanted.”</p><p>So  many  things  popped  up.  So  many  reasons  why  you  shouldn’t,  why  you  weren’t  good  enough  to  be  in  a  <em>relationship</em>  with  Steve  Rogers,  how  this  could  never  last  or  work.  How  these  types  of  relationships  normally  didn’t  work  for  a  reason  and  were  meant  to  be  simply  a  monetary  exchange  of  services  type  arrangement.</p><p>And  then,  you  found  you  couldn’t  get  past  the  way  he  looked  at  you  and  knew  for  a  fact,  deep  within  the  recesses  of  your  very  soul,  if  you  didn’t  give  this  a  try  with  this  man,  you’d  never  forgive  yourself.  </p><p>Pointing  your  fingers  that  had  only  just  been  toying  with  your  lips,  you  countered.  “Ok.  Ok,  I  want  to  try  this  out.  I  want  to  see  where  this  goes,  but,  I  want  something  in  writing.”</p><p>No  sweeter  words  had  ever  been  spoken  to  Steve  in  those  exact  circumstances.  </p><p>His  chest  felt  like  it  swelled  with  an  obscene  amount  of  helium.  He  could  feel  himself  flush  with  heat  and  excitement.  He  could  have  sworn  he  heard  bells  ringing.</p><p>Although,  it  was  not  bells  ringing.</p><p>No.</p><p>It  was  a  longer,  more  drawn  out  sound.  A  higher  pitched  sound.  An  annoying  noise  that  had  you  lurching  up  quickly,  a  horrified  expression  on  your  face  as  you  were  scrambling  like  your  very  life  depended  on  it.  Grabbing  clothes  in  your  haste.</p><p>“It’s  the  smoke  alarm  upstairs,”  you’d  managed  to  cry  out,  in  the  process  of  yanking  your  baggy  t-shirt  over  your  head  whilst  throwing  the  door  open  to  your  closet  space.</p><p>Obvious  blaring  shrieked  louder  once  you  were  out  in  the  living  room.</p><p>Somehow,  in  some  way,  you  were  able  to  scramble  into  what  you  thought  were  your  panties,  although  it  turned  out  they  were  Steve’s  you  later  discovered.  Not  that  you  would  have  cared  if  you  knew.  You  were  that  set  on  getting  upstairs  and  in  the  process,  grabbed  a  fire  extinguisher  on  the  way.  A  huge  plus  in  your  book.</p><p>Upon  reaching  the  first  landing  and  hallway  that  led  down  the  second-floor  hallway,  you  were  greeted  to  loud  blaring,  excited  shouts  and  smoke  billowing  out  of  the  nursery.</p><p>It  was  all  so  loud,  an  assault  of  activity,  so  much  to  take  in.</p><p>Sounds  of  feet  stomping  around  upstairs  let  you  know  Yelena  was  up  and  moving  your  way.  </p><p>Bruce  was  in  the  hallway,  in  his  Ghost  Busters  jammies,  shouting  into  the  room  that  held  Anna-Marie  and  Sparky  and  whom  you  could  only  assume  was  Kurt  too,  based  on  how  Bruce  shouted  and  hopped  around.</p><p>Right  before  you’d  realized  what  needed  to  be  done  and  had  taken  in  all  of  that,  in  its  entirety,  Steve  pushed  past  you.  He  raced  down  the  hall  on  those  long  legs  of  his,  wearing  only  his  jeans  and  bearing  the  red  cylinder  you’d  been  holding  a  second  ago.  Moving  with  intent  and  purpose,  obviously  having  a  clearer  head  than  you.  Although  you  were  a  second  or  two  behind  him,  racing  down  the  hall  towards  the  smoke  clouding  out  of  the  bedroom.</p><p>The  terror.  The  absolute  terror  that  filled  you  at  the  thought  of  Anna-Marie  being  in  there,  suffocating  on  smoke,  or  even  getting  burned  alive.</p><p>Panic  sank  its  sharp  claws  into  your  chest.</p><p>The  smell  of  the  smoke  eating  the  room  and  growing  burnt  your  nose  and  eyes.  It  nearly  made  you  scream  seeing  Steve  go  on  in  without  hesitation,  in  order  to  douse  it  with  the  white  foamy  substance  and  for  the  life  of  you,  you  couldn’t  see  Anna-Marie,  or  Sparky  the  fireproof  baby.</p><p>Your  panic  was  so  great  you  hardly  noticed  Kurt.</p><p>Your  brain  screamed  at  you  that  Steve  was  going  to  get  hurt.  You  were  convinced  that  Anna-Marie  was  already  hurt.  You  were  positive  that  Sparky  was  going  to  make  the  fire  bigger  and  burn  down  the  block.</p><p>Absolute  and  sheer  horror  at  what  could  happen  swarmed  over  and  around  you,  and  you  barely  noticed  the  pop,  or  puff  of  blue  smoke.</p><p>Only  when  you  heard  Anna-Marie  gasp  and  Sparky  crying  did  you  realize  what  happened,  did  you  come  to  understand  that  Kurt  had  gone  into  the  room  they  shared  to  grab  them,  popping  back  out  between  the  fabric  and  folds  of  physics  and  nature  itself.</p><p>So  grateful  and  utterly  relieved,  you  let  out  a  cry  to  grab  Marie  and  Sparky  both  in  your  arms.  </p><p>Only  to  get  shoved  roughly  aside  by  Yelena.  </p><p>Rushing  past  with  a  lime  green  plaster  cast  covering  nearly  her  entire  arm,  a  small  red  fire  extinguisher  in  her  other  hand  to  help  Steve  put  out  the  fire.  Which  had  to  be  the  time  that  your  brain  kicked  in.  When  your  brain  encouraged  you  to  get  everyone  back.  Get  everyone  well  away  from  any  possible  danger.</p><p>Not  that  there  was  a  ton  of  danger  Steve  noticed.</p><p>The  crib  was  on  fire.  Only  the  crib.  Smoke  billowed  off  from  the  blankets  and  the  materials  that  it  was  constructed.</p><p>It  was  mostly  easy  work.  </p><p>Spraying  down  the  furniture  and  floor  around  it,  in  case  the  fire  had  spread.</p><p>Steve  became  aware  that  someone  else  had  joined  him,  making  him  point  out  the  crib  as  he  doused  the  wall  behind  it.  A  fresh  metal  cylinder  of  the  foam  would  ensure  that  the  crib  was  fully  covered  and  that  the  fire  was  indeed  out.  And  as  that  second  stream  of  foam  blew  out,  he  looked  up  to  gander  at  the  ceiling.</p><p>Other  than  some  black  scorch  marks,  no  flames  seemed  to  have  taken  root.</p><p>Still  though,  he  gave  the  ceiling  a  good  spray  with  what  was  left  in  his  extinguisher.  In  the  event  that  he  somehow  missed  a  spark  that  may  have  floated  up  there  and  then  he  stepped  aside  so  the  person,  Yelena,  could  get  up  close  and  personal  with  the  crib.</p><p>This  allowed  Steve  to  take  a  breath.  Breathing  in  smoke  and  smells  of  burning  crib  and  sending  him  over,  barefooted,  to  the  window,  which  he  opened  to  start  venting  some  of  that  smell.</p><p>Only  then  did  he  take  note  of  Yelena.</p><p>She  was  not  dressed  for  bed.  Not  even  close.  She  wore  black  pants  he’d  seen  Nat  wearing  on  missions.  A  black  shirt  with  a  matching  vest  over  it,  exposing  her  bright  green  cast  that  was  held  to  her  chest  in  a  sling.  Hair  pulled  up.  Makeup  perfect.  Even  wearing  a  pair  of  what  looked  very  much  like  tactical  boots.  </p><p>Reminding  him  so  much  of  Natasha. </p><p>It  took  him  out  of  that  moment  for  the  briefest  time  and  only  when  Yelena  turned  to  look  at  him,  having  emptied  her  red  metal  fire  suppressant,  did  she  seem  to  notice  his  obvious  surprise.  Answering  an  unasked  question  with  her  usual  mix  of  hostility  and  threatening  menace.  Yelena  informed  Steve  in  no  uncertain  terms.</p><p>“I  just  got  back  from  a  meeting.”</p><p> </p><p>						***</p><p> </p><p>It’d  been  a  big  morning  for  Steve.  An  early  morning  too.</p><p>By  some  miracle  the  fire  department  never  showed  up  and  after  hours  of  every  window  in  the  historic  townhouse  being  open,  the  smell  of  smoke  upstairs  had  only  recently  become  not  unbearable.</p><p>“Yeah  man,”  Bruce  nodded  across  from  him  at  the  kitchen  table,  plate  full  of  eggs  and  bacon  and  toast.  “She’s  totally  fireproof.  Not  even  her  hair  gets  singed  when  she  starts a  fire  in  her  sleep.  Her  jammies  go  up  in  flames.  Sparky  herself  doesn’t  even  get  a  blister.”  </p><p>Having  seen  the  contents  of  the  fridge  and  your  sizable  food  shopping  list,  Steve  told  the  boys  that  he  wasn’t  hungry  and  made  plans  to  swing  by  some  food  place  to  eat  on  his  way  home.  Soon  he’d  go,  but  not  yet.</p><p>He  wanted  more  time  with  you.  He  wanted  more  time  in  your  hectic  house,  especially  after  that  early  morning  wakeup  involving  his  fire  suppression  skills.  </p><p>Plus  everyone,  well,  everyone  minus  Yelena,  who  had  left  for  another  meeting  not  long  ago,  toting  a  big  plastic  case  that  Steve  could  have  sworn,  hand  on  the  bible,  contained  a  long  gun.  Only  Marie  handing  him  Sparky  had  distracted  him.  </p><p>Sparky  who  stood  on  Steve’s  lap  had  seemingly  developed  a  newfound  infatuation  with  his  short  beard.  Little  olive  fingers  reached  up  to  drag  through  the  course  dark  blonde  hair.  Completely  enthralled  while  content  in  her  surroundings,  trusting  that  the  large  hands  that  almost  encircled  her  waist  would  not  allow  her  to  fall.</p><p>If  Steve  was  at  all  concerned  about  getting  burnt,  he  hid  it  well.</p><p>What  he  didn’t  hide  so  well  was  the  darting  of  his  eyes  now  and  then,  over  to  the  bandage  on  Kurt’s  wrist.  Although  he  did  notice  that  Marie  had  become  far  less  quiet  when  he  put  a  shirt  on.  Thus  leading  to  a  mental  note  to  be  fully  dressed  around  the  teenager  being  noted.  Neither  boys  had  seemed  too  bothered  by  his  shirtless  state  earlier  that  morning,  as  they  worked  on  cleaning  up  the  nursery  and  throwing  out  burnt  things.  Still,  it  had  been  a  while  since  Steve  was  around  a  teenager  and  the  last  thing  he  wanted  to  do,  was  make  her  uncomfortable.</p><p>Peering  back  down  at  the  baby.  Head  of  dark  curls  shining.  Wearing  a  pink  dress  absolutely  full  of  ruffles.  Big  glittering  brown  eyes.  Little  white  teeth  sticking  out  of  pink  gums.  Fireproof?  He  couldn’t  imagine.  </p><p>With  a  sigh,  you  plopped  down  in  the  empty  chair  beside  him  with  only  a  mug  of  coffee.  Whether  you  weren’t  hungry.  Or  you  wanted  to  let  Marie  and  the  boys  finish  off  what  was  left  of  the  eggs  and  bacon  up  on  the  stove,  he  didn’t  know,  but  he  did  notice.</p><p>He  kept  that  to  himself  in  front  of  the  three  eating  kids.  Because  Anna-Marie  was  most  definitely  still  a  child  in  his  eyes.  “And  she  can’t  control  it?  At  all?”</p><p>Four  heads  around  the  table  shook.</p><p>“Nope.  If  she  has  oxygen  and  materials  that  can  catch  fire,  that’s  all  she  needs.  It  seems  to  be  based  on  her  emotions  or  dreams,”  was  your  response  between  coffee  sips.</p><p>Squatting  on  the  chair  beside  Bruce,  Kurt  chimed  in,  his  tail  flicking  behind  him  like  a  feline  animal’s  would  at  rest,  seemingly  burning  off  any  residual  energy.  “Vone  time  Sparky  burped.  Parked  car  outside  burst  into  flames.  Luckily…nobody  vas  inside  it.”</p><p>Steve  sent  a  not  so  discreet  look  your  way,  questioning  the  validity  of  that  statement.  </p><p>A  far  less  discreet  nod  directed  at  him  came  from  you  in  response.</p><p>Almost  sadly,  Bruce  chimed  in,  “She  hasn’t  done  it  since  though.”</p><p>“An  we  don’t  wan’er  to  do  it  agin,”  Anna-Marie  reminded  Bruce,  gesturing  at  him  with  a  gloved  hand  holding  her  fork.  “We’re  jus  lyin  low  till  we  can  find  that  safe  place.  Don’t  need  Gen’ral  Ross’s  secret  police  comin  round  a’gin.  Do  we?”</p><p>Now  Steve  would  <em>never</em>  have  dropped  Sparky.  </p><p>But,  his  surprise  at  what  the  young  cajun  had  said  took  him  by  enough  of  a  surprise,  he  could  understand  how  someone  <em>could</em>  drop  a  baby.  “What?”</p><p>Maybe  it  was  the  coffee?  The  caffeine?  Waking  up  so  early  to  such  explosive  sex  followed  by  a  housefire?  Possibly  a  combination?  Whatever  it  was,  you  found  yourself  muttering  beneath  your  breath  so  low,  you  weren’t  sure  Steve  would  even  hear  you.  All  between  sips  of  your  heavily  creamed  and  sugared  hot  beverage.  “Dinner  and  a  movie  doesn’t  sound  so  bad  now?  Does  it?”</p><p>Azure  blue  eyes  darted  to  you,  darkened,  watched  you  closely,  made  you  feel  all  kinds  of  things  that  were  not  at  all  proper  in  present  company,  at  the  kitchen  table  over  breakfast.</p><p>Even  with  Sparky  standing  on  him,  Steve  managed  to  convey  all  kinds  of  heated  and  wildly  suggestive  things  by  merely  licking  his  lips  and  refusing  to  break  eye  contact  with  you.  “Go  ahead.  I’m  spending  the  night  tonight  too.  Keep  it  up.”</p><p>It  was,  quite  possibly,  the  most  delightfully  inappropriate  thing  he’d  ever  said  to  you,  that  far  anyway  and  you  were  living  for  it.  Up  went  your  eyebrows  in  a  dare  and  more  of  your  coffee  was  sipped.</p><p>“Keep  what  up,”  Bruce  demanded.</p><p>Followed  by  a  puzzle  Kurt,  “Us?  Vere  ve  supposed  to  put  sumething  up?”</p><p>A  choking  noise  came  from  Anna-Marie  and  you  turned  your  head  to  be  sure  she  was  ok  and  not  in  need  of  assistance.</p><p>A  black  opera  glove  touched  her  chest.  She  reached  for  her  orange  juice  and  sipped  greedily.  Both  boys  looking  from  one  end  of  the  table  to  the  other,  for  some  manner  of  guidance.  Up  till  the  point  where  she  coughed,  pushed  her  white  streaked  hair  behind  her  ears  from  where  it  had  curtained  forward.  “Oh  touch  me  Jesus…it’s  fine  boys.  You  eat  your  breakfast  fore  it  gets  cold  now.  Ya  hear?  Its  jus  adult  talk  bout  taxes  an  stuff.  Don’t  you  mind  it  one  bit.”  A  disappointed  look  was  then  sent  down  the  table  your  way  from  the  teenager.  </p><p>In  something  of  a  peace  offering,  you  held  out  your  third  or  fourth  cup  of  coffee  to  Steve  and  to  your  surprise  not  only  did  he  take  it,  he  took  a  drink  from  it.  You  had  noticed  he’d  taken  his  coffee  black. </p><p>Steve  was  right  though.</p><p>This  was  exceptionally  more  better  than  dinner  and  a  movie  could  ever  be.</p>
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